#dark urge: nemo

[maegalkarven]

Empty prayers

Logical continuation of the AU where everything flies off the rails at the Moonrise Towers:

https://www.tumblr.com/maegalkarven/731364247822598144/au-where-dark-urge-didnt-loose-memories-and-the?source=share

Following the derail of all of his plans by his own hands, Lord Enver Gortash contemplates the future. Luckily, he doesn't have to do it alone.

m!Dark Urge x Enver Gortash, Karlach.

"I don't think he will answer."

Enver doesn't turn around to look at the bhaalspawn. He hears the crunching of dead leaves and sticks under the man's boots and feels a familiar presence close to his shoulder.

Regardless of that, he does not turn.

There's a small, carefully constructed altar in front of him. Perfect, it looks like, perfect with the offering and the incense burning.

Yet his god is silent.

"Enver, really, I don't think Bane will-"

"He has to," comes out a little bit harshly, a little bit forcefully. There's a bitter taste of desperation on his tongue. He pushes it back. "I am his Chosen-"

"I don't think you are anymore."

"I am," he insists as his voice rings louder, pitching to a high, urgent note. "I am the Chosen of Bane, I am his Hand, I am his Voice, I am his Will; and he will answer me."

He feels Nemo's piercing stare burn into the side of his face, but does not look up. Does not meet the familiar honey of the gaze he thought he has lost.

Does not think of all the implications this gaze brings.

Nemo is alive, here, next to him; so close Enver can touch him.

Yet somehow everything is ruined.

A pair of firm hands lay on his shoulders gently and he almost flinches at the touch.

But it's just Nemo.

"No," his bhaalspawn whispers softly. "No, he will not. You have failed him, my dear, just the way I've failed father. You chose wrong," Enver tries to move away from the touch, but the man's fingers only dig in deeper.

"You should have pushed me into the pool. You should have taken Orin's side in the conflict or did not intervene at all. But you," a deep, heavy sigh and a weight of Nemo's body pressing against Gortash's back.

"You chose me. Consciously or not, but you put my survival above everything else; above our plan, above your alliance, above your god. And gods like your and mine do not tolerate disobedience."

"You created this plan with me," Enver tries. "We were brilliant together. Orin has ruined everything; she could not control herself. She was a liability-"

"She was the Chosen of Bhaal," Nemo whispers right into his ear, the breath coming out hot. "It was not your place to decide if she was liability or not. And anyway, I don't think this is why you did what you did."

"It was her own fault," he tries again and feels like a child trying to avoid the punishment. He remembers, long time ago, in a house he prefers to not think about, in a cell what was his home, he used to plead the same way.

Raphael never listened.

"And Ketheric's; they compromised the plan, they put everything in danger, I was just trying to fix it, to put things right-"

Nemo hums.

"Have you tried telling Bane that?" As the matter of fact, he did. "I doubt he'd take this as an excuse." He didn't. "Bhaal beneath, Ketheric was right, wasn't he? Gods only answer when they have something to say. I guess Bane has nothing to say to you anymore."

"He will answer me," Enver insists with the persistence of the damned. "He needs me."

"He really, really doesn't," Nemo presses himself closer and Gortash allows himself a moment to lean back into the touch, to seep out any comfort it provides and feed to his weary soul.

Nemo. Nemo. Alive.

And it only took everything to go to the hells for that to happen.

"I know he hears me," Enver tries again.

"Oh, I have no doubt he does. But Enver, darling, don't you think this whole...fiasco would look bad for Bane? Don't you think the most sensible thing he could do would be to wash his hands clean of this?"

Enver hates to admit Nemo is right; it would be the sensible thing to do. It would be what Gortash himself would do in Bane's place: abandon the lost cause and move on. Find another, better Chosen.

Only there's no better Chosen than him.

"I am the only one who can realize all of his plans," he tries not to think about it. About his Steel Watch, unstable with one of the stones in control of the Brain. Of the cult of Murder under the foot of a thrall of the said thing, of the prodigal murderer as a meat puppet of the entity beyond their comprehension. Of Ravengard, untadpoled, no doubt giving a speech at the inn right now.

Everything went to complete and utter shit. But he can fix it; he can. Surely Bane knows that.

Surely Nemo does.

Nemo lets out a dark, unkind type of a laugh.

"You just destroyed all of his plans," he murmurs almost lovingly. "All and every single one of them. There's no recovering from that, only moving forward."

Enver hates what Nemo is right. And he hates what he knows what Nemo is right. And he hates Bane, and he hates Orin, and stupid Ketheric with his stupid sacrifice for a bitch of a daughter who did not deserve it, and he hates Raphael - honestly, fuck Raphael; and he hates his parents, he hopes they'll die, and he hates Karlach and her big open heart what was ripped out yet is still somehow inside her ribcage-

And he hates Nemo for how much he cares for Nemo, and really, all of this is actually his fault, if not for him, then-

"Are you done with your pity party?" And speak of the devil. Oh, well, a tiefling with infernal engine for a heart. "Duke Ravengard is holding a council," typical. "And your presence is required."

His old friend gives him a short, bitter look.

"This is not a pity party," Nemo argues and the woman snorts.

"Sure looks like one. Gods, it truly is a sign, isn't it?" She whistles. "I used to think I want to see you dead, but seeing you like this, fallen from grace, demoted to what you have always been - that feels even better."

A bubbling, bitter anger raises in him and Enver moves to stand-

"Oh, cut out with this," Nemo interrupts, his hands still firmly on Enver's shoulders. "He saved my life."

"And this is what I still don't understand," Karlach argues. "But it doesn't really matter; this is me actually playing nice. Trust me, if I've decided to give him back the treatment he gave me, he would not be standing right here. Or, well, sitting right here."

"We are all in the same boat now," Nemo tries placidly. "Dealing with the consequences of-"

"-Enver Gortash's actions."

"Our actions. I was involved, remember?"

"You didn't have a choice," she argues. "Bhaal made you; cut from his very own flesh. You have known no life but what your evil father showed you. You were not acting on your own accord. He," an angry gesture at Gortash. "Acted on his own accord. And sold me to Zariel. So she could rip off my heart and make me an unwilling soldier in her war."

"Oh, stop playing the victim," Enver snarls. "I gave you a chance to be something greater than you were. I gave you a chance to be stronger, better, invincible. With this engine no one could touch you, no one could hurt you. It was practically a dream come true and you threw it away, the ungrateful brat you have always been."

Fire erupts from her engine, wrapping itself against Karlach's entire body. Her eyes blaze as she steps forward, and for a moment Enver almost feels...That can't be it, he is still wearing his coat.

He scrambles to his feet, reaching for the crossbow. Bane is silent, he will always be silent from now on, but Gortash doesn't really need him, he doesn't need anyone-

"I'll make you choke on these words," Karlach threatens and damn it, why does it take so long to fix up his damn crossbow, is it broken-

Then a small, thin figure moves to stand between them.

Nemo looks...so insignificant compared to Karlach; he has no fire engine running in his chest, he has no muscles to rival hers, he has no claws and no horns.

Just plain looking half-elf with a crooked dagger in his hand.

"No," he says firmly. "You will not kill each other. Either you two calm the fuck down or you'll have to kill me first. And," a quick glance behind. "I really don't think this is what either of you wants."

"Nemo," Karlach frowns. "Step away. He had it coming-"

"No."

"Nemo-"

"No," the bhaalspawn snarls and something sparks in his eyes, deep, dark and deadly. Bhaal is here. Bhaal has gone nowhere.

Orin was wrong.

"You are not killing him, you're not as much as harming him, Enver Gortash is mine."

Karlach actually looks taken aback at that.

"Yours to do what?"

"Mine to keep, and mine to torture and, if it comes to it, mine to kill. But he is mine and he will stay that way. Bane is finally out of the way, so don't think I'll let you interfere."

"Nemo, this is- You're not exactly-"

"He is the only fucking person who has ever got it," there's a bleeding desperation oozing from the spawn's voice.

"The only man to be my equal. The only true partner I had ever had. I went to the Moonrise Towers with the dreadful knowledge I'd die here, with the belief this man would stick a dagger so deep into my back it'll protrude from my chest. And instead," he is breathing heavily, his broken, pathetic mess of the murderer. Perfect.

"He saved me. He took my side in a fight what had nothing to do with him. He chose me when it was an an obviously stupid thing to do, he has forsaken everything by letting me live. You cannot have him."

They stand like that for a while in a complete silence.

Karlach, double axe in her hands and shock mixed with pity in her gaze.

Nemo, breathing heavily, hands trembling, his own blade digging deep into the flesh of his palm, a thin red string of blood trailing down into the dirt.

Enver, mesmerized, taking in every breath, every shift of his unlucky, broken, forsaken mistake of a lover. Elevated by the sheer force of his devotion.

They need no gods but the ones they create. They need no gods but themselves.

Finally Karlach sighs and lowers the axe.

"For you," she drops down, turning away. "Only for you, for everything you've done for me and the friendship we have. But make no mistake, I am watching him," a rude gesture Enver reciprocates. "And if he does one wrong step, his messy fucking head will come flying off."

"I'd like to see you try," Enver starts and immediately gets kicked into the ribs with Nemo's elbow. Brat.

"Alright," the bhaalspawn smiles. "Thank you. You said something about the council?"

And somehow the end of the world gets delayed for just one more day.

#dark urge: nemo #durgetash #gortash x durge #the dark urge x enver gortash #empty prayers au #bg3 dark urge #bg3 spoilers #au: durge remembers everything #durge spoilers #nemo: but ma'am this is my emotional support tyrant #karlach: *sigh* FINE. But you're cleaning after him #Nemo: i've done everything wrong in my life #karlach: this is not your fault and I love you #unproofread bc who has time for that? #avery.txt

[animentality]

I check the Durgetash AO3 tag so much that I am starting to remember not just the username of every person there, but the name of y'all's durges.

And also their particular character traits.

I have a sickness inside of me.

It's called love.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #durgetash #dark urge #off the top of my head raven manva kazaran maeve shay baela nemo zalkrum #hmmmm #somethings wrong with me

[hoedamn-eron]

doctor steven grant, phd - part 1

Your best friend's professor makes you weak at the knees.

Warnings: Age gap, but it is appropriate/legal. One sided pining (or is it?). Word count: 1,677 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Very sorry that this was posted a whole 14 hours later than planned!

Series Masterlist ● Part 2

You were a sucker for the awkward, nerdy type. Even in school, you were always fawning over the hard done by outcasts. You didn’t know what it was about them, but you’d sell your soul just to hold their hand. Yep, you were definitely a simp for an underdog. Your friends had always made fun of you for it, but you didn’t care. You had your preferences, and there was no shame in it.

Just like you had no shame in the preference you had for your best friends history professor.

University had never been your thing. You had decided you could still enjoy the ‘student life’ by going out partying with your friends and not end up in thousands of pounds of debt. And you had a full-time job so money was never a problem. But damn, if you knew Dr Grant could have been your professor, you were about to second guess your life choices.

You first set your eyes on the man when you met up with your friend for coffee by the university. It was her final year and she’d been up to her eyeballs in exams and revision, and final drafts of her dissertation, so you’d offered to take her out for a bit, to let her loosen up. She’d been working hard, and you hadn’t seen her for a while. You’d been chatting away about anything but university work when he’d caught your eye.

He’d walked into the coffee shop, red glasses perched on his nose as he frowned at his phone. He had a messenger bag hanging from his shoulder as he joined the queue. He was a bit older than you, no more than fifteen years, and he was dressed in clothes that looked just a bit too big for him but he wore them well. His dark curly hair was a tousled mess, but it looked as if it was purposely done, and you had the sudden urge to run your hands through it. He was, dare you say it, beautiful. You could practically feel yourself drooling at the sight of him.

You’d planned your life together in your head by the time your friend was waving her hand in front of your face. “Hello? Are you listening?”

You blinked as you looked away from the new object of your desires. “I’m sorry, what?”

“What are you staring at?” Her brow furrows at you as she turned in her seat, curious to see who you were looking at. An amused look comes across her face as she turned back to look at you. “You looking at the nerdy fella in the queue?”

“He’s the man of my dreams,” you sigh, as if you’re a pre-teen staring at the dreamy member of a boyband. “I have decided to marry him.”

“He’s my history professor,” laughed your friend. “He’s a doctor too…in history anyway. Dr Steven Grant, PhD.”

“How do you get anything done?”

“Because I don’t have the hots for my history professor.” Your friend smirks at you over the top of her coffee mug. “You should introduce yourself, I’m sure he’s single.”

Your mouth fell open. You had always talked a big game when it came to your fantasies that you had, but you’d never had the courage to go over and do anything about it. You’d always called it ‘window shopping’; you were happy to admire from afar and not touch the merchandise. You were scared of tainting the perfection anyway. “I could never.”

“Why? He’s exactly your type,” she teased. “He’s nerdy, he’s nice, and he has a goldfish called Gus who he is strangely proud of.”

“He’s got a goldfish?” You asked.

“He only has one fin, like Nemo.”

“He has goldfish with one fin? Oh, a man after my own heart, taking in less abled animals.” You cried, you hand landing on your heart as you look back over at Steven, who had made his way to the front of the queue and was ordering. “How has no-one snatched him up?”

“Because he’s the most awkward human being you’ll ever meet.”

You watched as Steven left the café, sipping at his flask that the barista had filled for him. From that day, every time you met up with your friend, you had hoped to catch a glimpse of her professor, but you’d had no luck. You were disappointed but of course, he hadn’t even noticed you, you had decided to just enjoy the fantasy life together you’d created a little bit longer.

Until you found him sat at the table with your best friend.

You froze a few feet from them, having been focusing on finding your bloody flat keys in the mess that was your bag. You were convinced that you’d left them at your job, but you needed them to get out the work building, so you must have had them. You were about to complain to your friend about your keys when you spotted the professor sat at the table, his flask in his grip, still wearing clothes that looked too big for him.

Your heart was hammering against your chest. He was just so good looking, it was unfair. How could he have this affect on you after only seeing him once, and he had no idea who you were? Incredibly unfair.

“Oh!” your friend cried your name as she saw you. “Sorry, I won’t be five minutes.”

“No rush, I’ll go and get myself a drink,” you reply, eyeing Steven, who gave you a shy smile. “Can I get you both anything?”

“No, we’re okay, thank you. Dr Grant was just helping me with some notes for my dissertation.”

You nod before turning to join the queue, before you find your gaze back on Steven. He was talking animatedly, his hands moving around with enthusiasm. Oh his hands, how had you not noticed the first time? This man was going to kill you.

“…and that’s how Ching Shih became an active pirate commander in the fleet, because her husband saw her as an equal.”

As you sat in the chair opposite the two, you listened intently to his speech about feminism in history, which your friend was incredibly passionate about, and was her next focus so she could move on to do her master’s degree. You were enamoured again by the way his hands moved and the way he spoke, those red glasses back on his face as your friend typed away on her laptop.

You blinked, your eyes focusing as your friend slammed her laptop closed. “Thank you, Dr Grant, that’s been a big help.”

“Not to worry,” Steven replied, sending a smile over to her as he took a sip of the drink that was in his flask. “Remember that I’m just an email away if you need more help.”

Your friend gave him another thanks before introducing you to him. Steven took off his glasses and his gaze finally landed on you properly as you tried introducing yourself like a functioning human being, but you were sure you were as red as a tomato and you couldn’t stop staring at his eyes. Brown was suddenly your favourite colour. You shook Steven’s hand and oh you could die. What was this man doing to you? You hadn’t even really spoken to him yet and you’re already a bumbling mess.

“Are you at the university too?” Steven asked, his forehead furrowed slightly in interest.

You shook your head. “No, no more education for me. We just meet up every few days for a drink and catch up.”

God you sounded so immature. Steven smiled anyway. “Oh well that’s good. Work can be just as stressful as school and exams, you have to take time for yourself.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, not being able to think of anything else to say. Does he know what effect he has on you, like at all? Surely he must know how good looking he was?

“Have you both been friends for long?”

“Since the beginning of high school,” you replied after a small pause. You needed a reboot, how does one have a conversation again?

Steven nodded, still smiling at you, not knowing about your inner turmoil. You wrack your brain for something, anything to say. “So you have a goldfish?”

You mentally slap yourself and you can see your friend grimacing behind her coffee mug.

Steven blinked at you and if it were even possibly, his smile brightened. “Two, actually. Gus and Gus Two. I’m not very creative with names. It’s nice to have a pet, someone who relies on you, even if it is just a goldfish.”

You couldn’t do anything but nod, your brain just letting off white noise. Your friend, trying to stop this disaster of a conversation, thanked Steven again for the help as he nodded, packing up his things and grabbing his flask. He stood. “I have some extra material I can give you after lecture on Thursday, just stop by my desk.” Steven called your name, causing you to give him a small smile. “It was nice to meet you. Hope to see you around again.” And with that, he left.

You groan as you bury your face into his palms, feeling the heat radiating from your skin. “That was the most embarrassing interaction I’ve ever had with another human. Was that as bad as it seemed?”

Your friend bit her lip, giving you a sympathetic look. “It could have gone better.”

“He’s going to think I’m just some dumb kid who can’t string a sentence together.” You groan as you slide down the chair, wanting the floor to swallow you whole. “I can’t believe I asked him about his goldfish.”

Your friend chuckled as she shook her head. She picked up her latte as she noticed something on the table. “Well, at least you made a lasting impression.”

“What makes you say that? Because I’m a bumbling idiot?”

“No, because he’s left his university business card on the table and I definitely don’t need that.”

#moon knight #steven grant x reader #steven x reader #steven grant x gn!reader #steven grant #oscar isaac #professor!steven grant x reader #professor!steven grant

[decaffeinatedharmonycycle]

Point Nemo

[Jonathan Crane x Reader]

[Jonathan Crane x fem!Reader]

Warnings: 18+, no mention of y/n, mentions of torture, gruesome descriptions of injury and mind matters, shameless smut, dacryphilia, Jonathan Crane because he is his own warning, dead dove;do not eat <you know what you're getting into>

Word count: 4k

Summary: Jonathan Crane is still working at the asylum, perfecting his fear toxin with your help. You do not find the enjoyment that he does in the experiments though and a night of comfort develops into more.

~~~

You hummed quietly, a simple song coursing through your mind, eyes focused on the paperwork in front of you. The rain hadn´t stopped for days now and you had started getting used to the rhythmic pattering against the windows of the Asylum that was the core of your studies. You had gotten used to many things over the years, though some had painted your mind in darker colours than you would´ve liked them to. The door behind you opened with a soft crack, the old wood aching under the impact of being moved, but it didn´t urge you to turn around. The door ached once more, announcing that it was being closed again, followed by steps that were as rhythmic as the rain itself. Jonathan sat down on your bed, not finding it in himself to utter any sort of greeting as he looked over his own stack of paper. You had started your work for the asylum two years ago, freshly out of college at the time, knowing that it was the best chance at getting to further your research in the field of complex traumatic exposure.

Technically, you had been right in that assumption, yet you would not have dared to imagine just how far you needed to go to achieve that goal.

The first weeks had spent watching silently, your eyes observing everything that they could get a grasp on, but it had quickly turned into more when you noticed the work of Dr. Crane, his experiments with the subject of fear intriguing you in a way that walked the line between being appalled and fascinated. You had taken to shadowing Jonathan after talking to some of the others about his experiments, after being assured his work was allowed and it turned out that Jonathan didn´t mind it much. Watching turned to helping and helping turned to you becoming his partner sooner than you had anticipated, the flash of his dark hair and those striking blue eyes had steadily grown to be your favourite sight. Jonathan and you didn´t talk much, at least not outside of your shared studies, but you didn´t need to. He was brilliant, more so than anyone you had ever met and you took whatever he was willing to give you, each day filled with some new knowledge that threatened to overwhelmed the boarders of what felt possible to you.

Where the days were loud and had you in a constant struggle, the nights were almost eerily silent, making you thankful that Jonathan had made it a habit to sneak into your room whenever you needed some company. You had no idea how he managed to know exactly when the sharpness of your mind was at its end, yet when it did he was always there, looming close but not to close for comfort. It had scared you when you were younger, the quiet slip of his form as it slid through your door in the darkness and the way he seemed to need a reminder to have polite small talk, but you had picked up on the fact that he was doing this for you after almost half a year. It was strange, utterly and completely strange, that the two of you had found peace in a place that was far from the sense of the word, your own presence here only adding to that. It was why you needed Jonathan´s presence after all, the things you did by daylight.

When you were alone you saw their faces, remembering each and every name, the horror you and Jonathan instilled into their minds over and over again until you reached the result you hoped for. You would stop if you could, but then it would have been wasted, years of research and study, thrown into the bin. You couldn´t have that and you were certain Jonathan felt the same way. He never let you do the dirty work, instead allowing you to build his subjects back up after they had been subjected to the toxin he had worked on for longer than the two of you knew each other. He had been called crazy for what he was doing and you could not help but think the same thing. In a way, the both of you were no better than your subjects, but you had the luck of being on the acceptable side of the soundproof wall. That was what it was, was it not? Luck. Your hands combed through your hair, the motion absentminded and meant to soothe the restlessness of your troubled mind. You were afraid, oh how ironic, of failing the project in its entirety.

There had been some subjects that had not shown any improvement after being induced with the toxin, those were the images that haunted you the most. Their faces had been twisted, fingers clenched around their beds so hard that they were broken in some cases. You visited them often, taking time to talk to them softly, to read them stories and the news, but none had ever come back from that crazed look. You had taken to call it stage nemo, the point of no return, after the earth´s farthest point from land. Jonathan however did not concern himself with the shells of humans he left behind and you would have been mad at him, screamed at him or hit him to make him see that he should care for what your experiments did to them if you could. It would have been useless, sometimes it felt as if he was satisfied with exactly those results, so you did not, just trying to tend to them yourself. If you could travel back in time and make it all undone you would, but those thoughts were void of meaning now. You were in too deep and the hope that all of this trouble would one day be worth it had a hold on your mind that was painful but addicting as well. You believed in Jonathan´s ideas, his vision of a better world and god, you could not care less if everyone else judged you for it. You did plenty of that yourself.

True intelligence was something that was impossible to contain, it worked beyond the understanding of moral and order, beyond the laws of the universe itself and you had never doubted that Jonathan had all of it. He was above everyone else, more of a concept than an actual person inside the deranged depth of your very own mind. He was perfection and as that, he could do no wrong. If this world were any different, it would be the two of you getting needles stuck into your skin. You felt a shiver run down your spine, it must have barely been visible, but it was enough for Jonathan to notice, his frame suddenly behind you, his fingertips placing a small stroke onto the soft skin of your shoulders. "Don't get into your head." Jonathan whispered, the words soothing you slightly. The knowledge that those hands had caused suffering beyond your imagination was ever present though, but you still decided to shut it out and for once succumb to the flutter of your stomach and the way his touch incited a different kind of nervousness inside of you.

You couldn´t remember when he had first touched you, if it had started with a slip of his thin fingers over your hand when you worked on your research or if it had been a night just like this, dark and gloomy with only the moon to keep you company, but you knew that it had always gotten your mind to quiet down for a moment and if only for that fact, you craved each second of his skin on yours. Jonathan himself felt a different, yet similar, way around you. He had been a man of obsession for all his life, you were no exception to that fact. He was observant, taking note of the way you had followed him around when you arrived in Arkahm. It had grabbed his attention immediately, at first with plain curiosity, but that feeling had grown to fondness disregarding how much he scolded himself for allowing those thoughts to enter his mind.

It had taken him some time to allow you in, the change in his behaviour so small that it would seem insignificant to anyone else. You were not anyone else though, having taken each step closer in stride, the way you never hardened towards him confusing the living hell out of the man. His work was well respected, but people stayed far away from him when they could, his presence a silent reminder of the sheer cruelty it took to do what he did, to achieve what he achieved. You had not moved away, instead staying by his side like the shadow that you were, persistent but not overly close. It had annoyed him, but he´d found himself more and more curious to know what made you act the way you did. You had to be some kind of abnormal to be like you were, but he had never found the fault he was desperately reaching for, clawing at the hope that there had to be something that could give him reason enough to push you away like a dog at its owner’s door. He had never found it and somewhere along the passage of time, he´d accepted the way things were. If he could not get you away, he thought he might as well get some use out of you and so he started involving you in his research.

When you had seemed shocked he was convinced that this was the point that you would back out, but you didn´t, even proving yourself useful. You tried to understand what no one else but him had dared to think, your pretty little mind struggling to grasp the concept of his experiments. It was not until a few weeks later that he had realized that all of it was taking a tool on you, that despite helping him, you did not share the depraved desire, the obsession, to see the full effect that pure terror could have if it was unleashed on the human mind. You did not enjoy it and although it disappointed him, he knew that your work had furthered his research considerably, though he would never even think of saying that out loud. He wanted you to stay sane for as long as he could keep you that way. That was the moment he had first made his way into your room at night, not explaining himself at all and just sitting down on your bed for a few hours.

He had not expected it to become a regular thing, but sooner or later it had become his own sick kind of a routine to scare away the very demons that he himself had allowed into your life. It had worked for some time, yet not long enough, your mind getting used to falling into darkness even in his presence. He had tried talking to you, but soothing words were not enough to keep the monsters of the day from haunting you until late at night, until sleep overtook your body and granted you a few rare hours of blissful ignorance. He had found out that you reacted better to touch, treating the whole thing much like his experiments and trying out every solution that he could come up with. It wasn´t that complicated in the end, a single stroke of his hands over your hair enough to calm your racing thoughts most of the time. Sometimes though, even that did not suffice and the horror continued to plague you in your sleep. When it wasn´t he pulled you close, falling into the habit of staying with you until sunrise so he´d be there to calm you when you woke from yet another nightmare.

His behaviour could easily be mistaken as softness and in a way, maybe, just maybe it was, but he didn´t do it for your sake. He needed you, your work making his own research undeniably easier and he wouldn´t lose the chance to perfect his formula because he was foolish enough not to make sure his partner was capable of doing as he needed her to. That notion was not entirely true though, the man finding himself seeking your company almost every night, finding excuse after excuse to do so. He did it just in case you were not well, that is what he had taken to tell himself. Just in case, that was also what he told himself when he had fallen asleep in your bed for the first time, waking up long before you did, the moon casting a soft light on your skin. He had been tempted to let his hands roam over you right there, but the thought of waking you up did not sit right with him.

Jonathan wondered what drove you to find his presence comforting when it was you who saw all of his darkness in its worst way every day, so much so that it had disrupted his work one day, his thoughts everywhere but where they should be. You made him angry like no one else could, but you had stayed. You would always stay; he had accepted that. Some days even had him debating with himself if making you go back home would be the better option, but that perspective had made him throw a whole vial of fear toxin across the room in frustration and accidentally exposing himself to it. He was immune, he had been since some particularly rough encounters, but when he breathed in deeply, he had found his heart racing in his chest and his breath catching in his throat for the first time in years. He expected the usual, death or torture but that was not what he saw when the hallucinations set in. He saw you. Your bags were packed and you did not look at him, walking out of the Asylum, never turning back and Jonathan panicked, reminding himself that this was only a hallucination. It was not real, it would never be real and he would make sure of that. No one would ever hurt you, no one would ever take you away from him. You were his, you had been his from the moment you decided to take this job, but he felt no need to allow you any knowledge of it.

You looked up at Jonathan, the present moment soothing you enough for your bones to ache with the exhaustion of the day, meeting his blue eyes and growing warm as you took note of the supple softness that had taken the edge off of his sharp features, his usually pursed lips locked into something that could have been described as the ghost of a smile, but it was so subtle that you would have missed it if you did as much as blink. “Can we go to bed?” You asked, your voice breaking the silence so suddenly that you almost regretted speaking up at all. “Of course.” Jonathan stated, his own voice achingly smooth, making you ask yourself if it was possible to grab a hold of someone’s voice just to feel running trough your hands.

Jonathan moved away, clearing the bed of his paperwork, setting it down on your desk in a neat pile. Of course he would not let it lay around in a mess. You slipped under the covers, embracing the warmth that still lingered below them. You did not want to sleep alone tonight, longing to be held and feeling the strength to deny that fade from your body as soon as you felt Jonathan settle beside you. His body was familiar to you, each curve of his frame edged into the part of your mind that you fought to forget so much, your head settling against his chest as one of his arms wrapped around you, his slender fingers drawing slow circle on your waist. “Need anything?” Jonathan asked, his words speaking of a tension that you were not able to pinpoint. “Could you stay with me?” You asked, hesitating to ask him but eventually overcome by the need to be close. Jonathan froze for a second, as if you had struck him down with a brick. It did not last long, the hand that wasn´t laying at your waist coming up to your jaw and turning your head up to look at him, your heart skipping a beat with the sheer intensity of his gaze. You were used to his stare being cold, calculated or even angry, yet this was different. This look, it was careful, making him look as if he was trying to tame a hurt animal. You could almost get lost in it, oceans and rivers pouring from a single man’s gaze.

“Why?” He asked, sounding entirely to unsure of the answer he expected to hear, maybe he did not know what the answer he wanted to hear even was. It was confusing to you, seeing him like this, but you could not pull away, could not stop yourself from craving whatever was happening. “I don´t know.” You answered, honestly not sure yourself. Jonathan did what he had always done, analysing you instead of waiting for an actual answer, just that this time around it did not take him more than a split second until he pulled you flush against him, placing an experimental kiss to your lips. He pulled back just as quickly as he had come, his eyes never leaving the mess that you were, searching your face for any kind of reaction. You were shocked for no more than the time it had taken for him to pull back, somehow having expected this moment. You had hoped for it and now it was there, but it had been so quick that you barely felt it and you were having none of it. You adored him more than anyone else, if he wanted a kiss from you, you wanted the chance to prove that you were worth it, one of your hands coming up to tangle in the hair on the back of his neck hesitantly. God, you did not know what you were trying to do, emotions rushing through your body as if they had been held back by a leash for all of your life and yet you showed none of it. For all the rush you felt, it was not overwhelming, it was peaceful.

Jonathan did not need more than that, his lips almost crushing yours with a vigour that damn near rivalled the way he was with his work, his intensity returning in full force. He did not ask himself anything anymore, he did not want to, it made no sense either way, he just knew he craved this as much as he craved to be perfect, his whole body aching to get closer to you. The passion that you returned when you kissed him back made his mind blank, one of his hands finding your waist and holding you tightly while the other made its way down to your thighs painfully slow in its pursuit, taking his time in savouring this properly. You gave a soft sigh, quickly hushing yourself as you fell into a state of worry that you had somehow broken the spell of the moment, your expression twisting into one of concern.

“You liked that, didn´t you?” He asked, not allowing you any time to realized that he did not mind your behaviour at all, his experimental nature returning to him more with each moment, his fingertips grazing over the inside of your thigh and his body relaxing at the same moment. He did not need you to answer that question either, the knowledge that you were already his dawning on him with a warmth that made his breath grow irregular. You gave a court nod, still embarrassed that it took so little to make you practically fall apart at his touch, but Jonathan had other plans. “Use your words.” He demanded, the words sharp while his tone stayed gentle. You could get out of this, that was what you needed to remind yourself of, but if you were being honest, you would do anything for him and he knew it. “I did.” You hummed, voice barely holding up anymore. Holy hell, this was humiliating enough without you stuttering like a damn idiot. The humiliation faded into a cry as his fingers found their way to your cunt, your reward for listening without a doubt, drawing a line over your underwear, the silk fabric sticking to the wetness that had gathered there.

“If only you could see yourself right now.” Jonathan´s voice had dropped lower, a dark rasp that made you shiver once again as you felt the sheer vibrato of it hit the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips finding the spot right below your jaw and placing sloppy kisses wherever you you would let him. If you could see yourself right now you were pretty sure you would fade out of existence, but you could not, the only thing in your field of view being the man that had settled above you now. Your hands had latched onto his back, fisting the cotton of his shirt harder than you should, making you pray that you would not rip it on accident. If you had known that that little action alone was enough to make his pants strain against his cock painfully, you would've had him then and there. He was beautiful, looking perfectly angelic with his full lips, his hair falling slightly into his face and his shirt unbottoned half way. You couldn't remember opening it up, but you didn't care, grateful for the inch of skin that he let you see.

Jonathan pushed your panties aside without much effort, his own eyes growing hazed with the heavy feeling of want seeping into his very core like it had never done before. He needed you, needed each piece he could get and it was frustrating him more than you could begin to imagine. He watched your reaction patiently, taking care not to move on to quick with everything, but the way your head fell back against the pillows and your lips parted when he let his fingers glide over you without any layers to separate your skin and his told him all he needed to know. It wasn't long until he slipped one of his fingers into you, your hips bucking into the movement involuntarily as he added another finger, a smile of amusement coming to grace his lips. He gave you time to adjust, only moving his fingers after you had relaxed, finally pumping them into you slowly, his thumb still swiping over your clit in lazy circles.

You were aware that you would not last long like this, forcing yourself to form a half coherent thought so you could manage to speak up. “Please.” You muttered the word, not knowing how else to formulate the plea.

Jonathan wanted to tease you further badly, maybe to get you over the edge before he even gave you any part of himself or to make you spell out that you actually wanted him, the control he held in that moment more pleasing than an entire week of research. He did not do so though, instead allowing your hands to roam lower on his body until they had found his pants, gasping as you felt the strain they were under and rushing to free him. You did not even have the patience to shrug of his pants entierly, just pulling him out after you unzipped his pants.

You took a moment to admire his length, swallowing hard as you doubted that you could take him. Jonathan picked up on your nervousness, letting a hand come back up to your face and making you look at him firmly, his eyes demanding and soothing all at once. "I'll be gentle." Jonathan cooed, your mind instantly falling into hazy adoration as it always did when you looked at him. When he actually pushed into you though, he was not entierly gentle, his girth feeling like it was splitting you open as he pushed in to the hilt with a single thrust, a groan falling from his lips. You gasped, hands gripping uselessly at the sheets and your eyes welling with tears at the combination of pain and pleasure.

You had no way to adjust this time, his thrust setting a steady rhythm as they hit you just where you wanted them to, brushing over just the right spot again and again. The tears were falling down your cheeks, the feeling overwhelming you so much that it made you cry and moan at the same time. Jonathan did not think about stopping once, the tears that ran down your face making a whole diffrent kind of his mind light up in utter fascination. You were perfect to him in that moment, crying and breathing hard just for him, just because of him. He plunged into you once more, his thumb coming back to your clit and eliciting yet another sigh from your lips.

You had been with men before, but no one had ever come close to making you feel like this, your hips moving to meet his thrusts entierly on their own, not taking long to topple over the peak of your ecstasy, drowning in pure pleasure with a sob. Jonathan felt you clench down on him in rhymic waves, your walls wrapping around him in the most delicious way and he leaned forward, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in a sigh as he spilled into you.

You did not speak, did not move, neither of you wanting to change the situation until Jonathan let himself settle beside you again, pulling you close to him. To him, this was as close to heaven as he would ever get, salvation for a sinner that was beyond redemption. To you, it was your very own point nemo. The point of no return, of being utterly lost, of being found. "Do you want to leave?" You asked, not wanting to make him feel like he had some obligation to you, even though you yourself were still panting heavily, the afterglow still clouding your mind and preventing any thoughts about the future. "No." Jonathan stated, the word simple, but still making you want to jump with joy. Only then did the exhaustion finally get a hold of you, your eyes closing just as he pressed a kiss onto your head.

~~~

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #batman #nolanverse #fanfiction #smut #Spotify

[changeling-fae]

1, 14, & 21 (not Nemo, haha!) for the Dark Urge askmeme! also any other numbers you desperately want an excuse to share ^^

I’ll post for both my Durge’s, Nym and Casira.

And also I apologize for its length. It’s a chonker.

Nym:

1. What circumstances led to your Dark Urge becoming their class/subclass?

Nym’s an abyssal tiefling (granddaughter to Graz’zt) and her bio-father (not Bhaal) was a divine soul sorcerer to Eilistraee, so normally she’d be a a divine soul sorcerer but I have her as a wild magic sorcerer because her abyssal blood and her spark of divinity doesn’t play nice with each other. It’s a constant war inside of her.

She’s a bhaalspawn because her abyssal cambion mother basically at one point had sex with a bhaalspawn, and I headcanon that succubi/incubi steal the essence of people they sleep with and their bodies then corrupt it with whoever they knock up/get knocked up by. I know technically cambions aren’t succubi/incubi but being the daughter of Graz’zt, I’m giving her some leeway. So she stole the sperm/essence of a bhaalspawn and for funsies, mixed it in with the child of the divine soul sorcerer man she was currently tricking/banging. So Nym has three parentages technically.

But yeah, she’s mechanically a wild magic sorcerer because her particular concoction of existence doesn’t play nice with each other.

She’s multiclass bard because she loves music and her day job when not doing stuff with the cult (which she was already trying to pull away from) is entertainment. Only time she ever feels at peace.

14. How good of a liar is your Dark Urge? How do they feel about lying?

Nym is an excellent liar and feels nothing when she does it. She’s not a habitual liar, she only does it when she feels she needs to to protect herself, but she has no qualms about doing so. I think if she has to do it around someone she cares about, is the only time she feels some guilt. Or at least, discomfort.

21. What are 2-3 songs that your Durge would relate to?

Paint It, Black by Ciara - Nym feels so much darkness and bitterness and she doesn’t want to.

Big God by Florence and the Machine - Definitely one of her main songs, not just for lyrics but the dancing in the music video. She secretly worships Eilistraee as her father did but she’s so conflicted and desperate for some form of salvation but also laments and despairs against the gods.

Death Wish by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit - My girl has got bad depression and she’s definitely the girl in this song’s scenario. The lines “Who’s gonna save you, who’s left to pray to? What’s the difference in a breakdown and a breakthrough?” fits her like a glove.

Bonus question for her:

2. Did your Durge have any romantic and/or sexual relationships prior to their illithid adventure? If yes, who was it with and what was it like? If no, how did they feel about being single?

Ok so Nym has a very complicated and messy relationship to both sex and romance. She’s had a few romantic partners, whom she usually breaks up with because she feels she’s a danger to them and/or she feels they deserve someone without her baggage.

She was in a relationship with one of my Tav’s, Cillian Baker, and he was her last serious romantic relationship before she broke up with him.

She’s rather hyper-sexual but uses it as way of self-harm tbh. She’s a CSA survivor and her relationship with sex is rather unhealthy. She likes sex in the moment but afterward deals with extreme self-loathing. She also tends to choose dangerous or questionable men for ONS because sometimes she wants an excuse to murder someone, always a toss-up.

Right before the game, going on for several months, she actually had a relationship with Raphael at the Devil’s Den. It wasn’t sexual or romantic; she originally came to his presence because a woman she was close to and had feelings for liked to party (using it as a coping method herself) and they ended up in the DD.

Nym clocked him for a devil right away and he knew she was Durge and found her a novelty/would be a yummy soul but more an idle interest. She was worried her friend would get in trouble around him (I’m picturing him catering intimate sinful little parties for him to find souls in).

They slowly danced around each other over the course of months, and came to play lanceboard as a regular occurrence. Eventually her friend basically met someone and got clean and while Nym was happy for her, she’s just so damn lonely. I’ll probably post a separate post on her and Raphael’s relationship because it’s long but basically she comes back to the DD and resumes their game nights.

He finds her amusing and they have a weirdass connection that can’t quite be described. At some point they do get into a tiff, she got too close to his little spark of humanity on accident and it made him lash out.

She doesn’t show up for a number of weeks and he doesn’t think much of it and then oh, would you look at that, she’s one of the abducted and has some memory loss. That’s when his interest spikes immensely and then the ingame stuff. She feels a connection to him but doesn’t know why and it pisses her off, lol.

Ok, now onto my second Durge:

Casira:

1. What circumstances led to your Dark Urge becoming their class/subclass?

Casira is a cleric of Selûne (light domain). How that happened is basically, the Bhaal cultists used the corpse of an aasimar of Selûne (one of Aylin’s sisters) in a profane ritual that used Bhaal’s blood to fill the empty vessel. Created a baby bhaalspawn but that tiny spark of Selûne remained.

She grew up conflicted, raised in the cult but never feeling right. Selûne tried to reach her a few times in her life but it was too dangerous/Sceleritas Fel was always watching and it put Casira in danger.

Her cleric powers really only came forward once Casira was abducted and no memory because Selûne took that as her chance to influence her.

14. How good of a liar is your Dark Urge? How do they feel about lying?

Not that good, tbh. She’s fairly honest and upfront if you ask her questions. She finds lying difficult to understand and doesn’t like doing it. It gets her into a lot of trouble.

21. What are 2-3 songs that your Durge would relate to?

Eva by Nightwish - Definitely her in both lyrics and vibes.

The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives - “I shine only with the light you gave me” is very her.

Fake Wings by Kajiura Yuki - The solemn/melancholy tone fits her.

Bonus question for her:

25. How does your Durge feel about Sceleritas Fel?

Terrified. Even without the memory loss, she was terrified of him. He was put in her life because he/Bhaal could sense Selûne on the sidelines. If she didn’t do the murders and rituals enough times or ever showed reluctance, she was severely punished and Bhaal would overtake her body and control her (where the really nasty Durge lines happen, like necrophilia, etc). So she learned that to keep her body in her control, she had to do the serial killing.

His “naughty naughty” was usually a precursor to her punishments so when she got that dream in the third act she was so terrified of falling asleep for weeks.

#bg3 #bg3 durge #ask meme #csa mention #nym is honestly like if laura palmer from twin peaks were in bg3 #oc: nym the drow'ri #oc: nym the abyssal tiefling #oc: casira #bg3 raphael

[minnowtank]

God I fucking hate Sidon the Zora so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every cutscene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid shark face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking leg fin skirt? Who the hell makes a fish guy with leg fins like that. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard hammerhead-head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking PINK “NOSE” that no anthropomorphic fish has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Sidon or a Sidon gif or a shitty goddamn TikTok edit, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Sidon the fuckshit fish fucker, I love my empty no-homo void of a wife". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Bruce from Finding Nemo summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking fishtail hair makes your whole shitty head look like an anvil with a tumour. I hate your dumb fucking nonexistent pink nose and your stupid, half-hidden eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children's video game, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is altogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of sexy character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the shark dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless fuckable video game side character fandom wank distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking tail head. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional fish.

#copypasta #🐟 #totk #botw #loz #LMAO sorry for tagging #totk salt #totk critical

[inaconstantstateofchange]

4, 17, 21 (with some cool vocals, pls) for the Durge ask game? 🥹🙏

30 Questions for Your Dark Urge

4. What would your Dark Urge consider to be their greatest flaw? Is this accurate?

Their lack of perfect self-control. They regret Quil’s death for the fact that she should be alive now, yes, but also for the way it highlights a failure of control on their part. 

It is accurate to an extent, but also… not. The standard of perfection Kelis holds themself to would be difficult to attain even for a standard mortal, let alone someone with the deck stacked against them from the start in such a way.

17. What is your Dark Urge’s greatest regret?

[Serious]: The decades they spent under the thumb of Bhaal, controlled by the bloodthirst instead of controlling it themself. They don’t regret individual acts in more than a general sense, but they hold self-control in utmost regard, and it sickens them that their old self thought they were in control, while walking step-by-bloody-step along the path laid out for them. 

[Flippant-but-Still-Dead-Serious]: The few secrets they failed to uncover in the areas they explored over the course of their initial quest. When they find out about the entire hidden basement at the Arcane Tower, they transform into an owlbear and take off to sulk for an entire day about it. They were meticulous. They were thorough. They were desperate for answers. How could they have missed something in hindsight so blatantly obvious?!

21. What are 2-3 songs that your Dark Urge would relate to?

Nemo - Nightwish

The loss of innocence that can never be returned, a nameless existence

Fruits of the Dark - Dune Moss

Resonates with their experience of taking refuge in Wildshape to escape the worst attacks of their Urges

Carrion Comfort - aeseaes 

The desire to rip and bite and tear at the world until there is nothing left of you to feel pain, or confusion, or doubt

#voidling speaks #selkie-of-sule-skerry #ask #vflu #my writing #finira bene #kelis #bg3 #bg3 oc #bg3 spoilers #dark urge #durge

[fueledbysano]

💿 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓. manjiro sano

august— for those who love too hard and get their hearts broken easily, those who love from afar, those who are hopeless, yet still live for the hope of it all. a love story comes to an end before it could even get written.

♱ pairing; bonten mikey x gn!reader

♱ content/warnings: angst, bonten timeline, death.

my piece for my 3K event + anniversary playlist requested by @bluestsun. ♡

“Never undermine my authority like that ever again.” Manjiro menaced, narrowing his pair of dark voids towards you in the middle of a Bonten meeting.

Some of Bonten’s men screwed up big-time by stealing the armory of a rival crime family, which had put you in a compromising place.

He, however, thinks he can use this to your advantage to take down another rival gang. But you thought otherwise with your suggestion to hold these weapons as “hostage” in exchange for something instead of fueling the fire by dragging another rival into the situation.

This meeting had already taken place the day before.

You parked the car in a subtle rush, not realizing the tires were out in line with the parking space and the narrow gap in between Koko’s Audi R8.

Upon reaching the hallways, you discarded your gloves and coat to a lackey, ordering them to wash it clean then heading to the headquarters’ liquor storage. Upon scanning tall shelves of different kinds of alcohol, you’ve finally found the perfect bottle.

You prepared two shot glasses, taking it with you to head to the highest floor on the building.

Once the elevators opened, you were met with the man’s back as he sat on the organ, toying with a few keys with his slender fingers. Although he heard the elevator chime, he didn’t bother to see who came to bother him yet again.

With a loud clunk, you set the bottle down the flat surface of the organ along with the shot glasses.

“What’s this?” Manjiro questioned, looking up at you.

“The finest scotch in the house; a 35 Glen McKenna. Double.” You answered. “It’s a peace offering, and—”

“It’s over, [ L / N ], we’re keeping the guns. Whoever dares to get them back, I’ll kill them myself.” He uttered.

“It’s a peace offering and a celebratory shot.” You finished after his dramatic interruption.

“The fuck we have to celebrate for?”

“Those stupid weapons.” You simply replied, peeling off the seal from the bottle.

“What?”

“You asked for my opinion, we screwed up, I fixed it, and everything turned out better than we anticipated.” You spoke, unscrewing the cap of the liquor.

“Well, the other executives helped. Actually, they did most of the work but it was all my idea.” You continued talking, now, making yourself comfortable on the empty spot on the seat beside him.

“They’re downstairs, but I thought I’d report here to you.” You added, now pouring the scotch on each of the glasses.

“What happened to the weapons?” You then proceeded to tell him about your elaborate plan to frame your rival organization in order to take them off your hands all while keeping kin with the family whom your men stole weapons from.

“The family took care of it. Gave us some gold, a very large amount of cash, and some merchandise as an incentive for our ‘help’.” You nodded, placing the bottle’s lid back on.

“It’s in the vault. Sanzu and Rindou are swimming on it right now like fucking Nemo and Marlin.” You assured him that you had everything already taken care of by lightening the mood and handing him his shot glass.

He then gracefully picked it up, swirling the liquor and then turning to you, “Cheers.” Although subtle, you felt his mood light up as he raised a toast.

You didn’t deny him the shot as you toasted your glass with his, and then finished the shot altogether.

“And I also did not forget…” You trailed off, taking his attention once more. “That it’s your birthday, boss!” You pat him on the back, urging him to scoff in response.

“Come on, you turn twenty eight today. You deserve to have some company.” You pointed out, pouring yourselves another round of shots.

“I appreciate it, [ Y / N ].” It was at that precise moment that he offered you that rare, sincere smile that he hadn't displayed for quite a long time. You returned it in a mere second, this time, initiating the toast before proceeding into a lengthy late-night conversation in his office.

It then ended with Manjiro’s head falling onto your shoulder. You were sure that it was the alcohol acting, surely causing him to be light-headed and simply seeking relief on your shoulder. However, his arms were next to encase your waist in his grasp before he muttered a subdued “thank you”.

Even though you want to cling to the most wonderful moments for as long as you can, they always seem to pass too quickly.

That night, a special connection, and potentially, tradition was born. a beginning of something personal and significant in your relationship more than just being colleagues in a criminal organization.

So, with every special occasion or simply just on a good day, you offered shots with Manjiro until the bottle of scotch eventually ran out.

You detested staying late at the headquarters or even postponing your own plans in the vain hope that he would return from a mission safely and would, just in case, need to see you.

But eventually, at one particular midnight, he strolled into your office with a brand-new bottle to keep your tradition alive, finally taking the initiative to commence the drinks.

This allowed him some semblance of optimism that his existence wasn't solely meant to be a menace to the world; but also to bring you along for the ride, and be a part of something actually meaningful.

Moments like this eventually grew into something therapeutic for Manjiro. Not only did you consider this to learn from him and how he manages to run your organization, but you also got to know him better.

It's a bittersweet experience; having had the honor of getting to know his authentic self and seeing a glimpse of his vulnerable side, all while feeling the pain he'd gone through. You thought life is too unfair to subject such affliction to one person.

But how much more could it be so brutal to put an end to you and Manjiro’s story before it could even be written?

“Are you hurt anywhere?!” You immediately ran up to Mikey upon arriving at the headquarter’s infirmary.

You were in the middle of a negotiation with a crime family when you heard from Sanzu that Mikey had been in a shoot-out with Tachibana Naoto, the detective who had been trying to tail your group for a long time.

If he didn’t already look so frail in his normal state, seeing him fatigued and pale on the bed felt desolating to you.

“I feel fine now, [ Y / N ].” His voice hoarse, Manjiro assured you with all his strength. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You smiled back, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll be back.” With a tap, you excused yourself to see Koko outside.

“Is he getting better yet?” You asked.

“He’s hurt badly. The doctor took the bullets out but it hit major organs. They’re shutting down as we speak, there’s nothing to do. Doctor’s words.” He spoke flatly.

“Well, call all the doctors we know! and didn’t Kakucho go to med school? Can… Can he find a way? Maybe he knows someone…” Your voice almost broke in desperate attempts to seek a solution.

“Or, or… blood. Will that buy him more time? I’ll give him my blood.”

“[ Y / N ].” Koko raised his voice. “It's time to stop being his executive. Be his friend. Or…” He paused for a moment, looking for the right words to say. “Whatever you are to him.”

Your heart halted for a second, realizing that your other colleagues had already caught up with what was going on between the two of you.

With no words spoken, you returned to the room, with Mikey looking right into the door as if he was waiting for your return.

“Can we have the room alone, Sanzu?” He requested, in which the Akashi obliged, giving you your privacy.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” You sniffled, sitting on his bedside this time.

“Me too.” He whispered. “I go first.” He added.

“After we defeated Tenjiku, I finally saw Manila, the place Shinichiro loved. And then I explored the country. Stayed there for a year.” He spoke with all his remaining strength. “I spent my birthday… on a beautiful island. It’s just me. And it was the best birthday I had.” He reminisced.

“Until I spent my last birthday with you. I realized how lonely it felt on that island.” He added.

“And if it’s going to be my last, then I’d be honored because I was with you.” He smiled sweetly.

Your chest was aching with both adoration and pain at the same time, and all you could do was lend a hand to his cold ones.

“Also,”

“You are… a terrible driver.” He added. You snorted bittersweetly. “The worst one among us, really.” He pointed out, laughing along with you

“Well, I… hate your haircut.” You spoke out.

“I just know that Izana is so mad at you for ripping off his look.” You added, earning a chuckle from him.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Can we stay like this before I go?”

In another life, perhaps, the one he had gone off to, you only hoped he was free from all the pain life had so cruelly inflicted upon him. and if it was kind enough, you wish he ends up in your arms.

as if it was that night of august all over again.

🔖; @tokyometronetwork

#tokyo revengers #manjiro sano #mikey x reader #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano x reader #mikey x reader fluff #mikey x reader angst

[mie779]

The Dark Elven

A/N: This fic was started way back in April, I wanted to take part in this year’s CSSNS event on Tumblr. This is my contribution, it had always been my intent to write something inspired by The Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit elves. I even made a moodboard/collage when I first started writing, I shared it on my Tumblr back in April. 

I was so friggin happy when I learned that I was paired with the talented @piinfeathers, she has made the amazing cover art for me. (In two versions, one dawn/day and one night… the dawn one is going to be my “official” cover as it fits with a scene that comes later on. I have both versions set up side by side on my computer wallpaper, I love them so much.)

This will be multichapter and I have yet to find the ending in this, currently, I have 8 chapters written and we have yet to reach the final “battle”. I will try and spread out my updates so I’ll post one each week, I will do my best to remember to do it each Wednesday. In the next two weeks, you will have to excuse me if I forget as I’m on vacation. 

I need to make one more shoutout and that is for my very helpful beta reader @ultraluckycatndltraluckycatnd. Without her, it would be filled with cringy typos and grammar errors. 

I hope you will enjoy this as much as I’ve enjoyed the process of writing this, and continue to enjoy it. Let me know in a review what you think of this. Read here or on AO3

Prologue

“Come now, little brother,” Liam urged, pushing away another low-hanging branch. 

“It’s younger brother,” Killian grumbled as his foot got tangled in another gnarled root. “Do we even know if the bloody crystal is in the temple; that it is perhaps nothing but a myth? It could be anywhere in this godforsaken place.” He looked at the dense forest around them; they had trekked through this place for hours. 

Liam inspected his compass and compared his notes on a small tattered parchment. “We’re almost there.” He pointed ahead of the tiny trail that could hardly be called anything else but thick woodland. Liam chopped off the twisted vines that blocked their passage with his cutlass. Liam was an expert at wielding the weapon and had taught Killian as they worked their way up the ranks on Captain Nemo’s pirate ship. When the old captain had died, Liam had taken up the mantle of Captain on the Jolly Roger.  

“I bloody well hope so.” Killian swatted at a mosquito that buzzed around his ears. 

“Look.” Liam stopped in his tracks and pointed with his cutlass. “It’s right there brother.” 

“So the crystal is in there?” Killian managed to push forward so he stood next to his brother. “This place looks haunted.” The tall, almost pyramid-shaped structure rose above them, intricate symbols lined the walls and around what looked to be the entrance. 

“Come now, Killian.” Liam took a step forward, eyes scanning the large open area in front of the lost temple. 

Killian followed his brother and they reached the entrance, and Liam checked his map and notes again. Finally, he nodded. “I know how to get in.” He reached out and pressed the Greek letters in the correct order. 

Moments later, the large entryway opened up and they could see a dark hallway. Liam found his torch in his backpack and, using a firesteel, the flame caught the oil in the torch. 

“Are you sure about this?” Killian looked into the darkness, his skin prickled in fear.

“Come now, brother.” Liam pushed through a layer of cobwebs and lifted the torch as he stepped inside. “Be careful where you step,” he warned as he walked further inside.

Killian glanced over his shoulder, making sure that no one had picked up on their trail. But the forest around them was still, perhaps a bit too quiet. Taking a deep breath, he hurried after his brother. “That bloody crystal better be here.” 

“It will be, the charts have yet to fail us,” Liam said as he led them deeper into the ancient Greek temple. The temple that they had spent days locating was in the middle of some deep forest area in Camelot, close to the borders of Misthaven. Misthaven was the land of elves, and who knew if they in fact hadn’t already crossed the borders between the two realms. 

Finally, the hallway seemed to open up in front of them, and they stepped out into a cavernous room, the light from the torch never reaching the ceiling. 

As they scanned the area ahead of them, they saw a faint flickering of blue light further into the room. 

“So this is an old temple of Zeus?” Killian asked, surprised that his voice didn’t echo through the vastness of the room. 

“It is.” Liam pointed to the blue light. “I think that is the crystal.” 

The two brothers walked carefully over the floor, stepping over several shallow grooves that had been cut out into the floor; it looked like it was filled with something. Killian crouched down. “Hold on brother.” When Liam turned to him he said, “What do you suppose this substance is?” He pointed to the not quite liquid but still not solid mass in the grooves. 

“Careful,” Liam warned. He pulled out a small knife and dipped the tip of it into the substance, then he carefully lifted it to his face and sniffed. “Smells like burning oil, and some other things I can’t place.” 

Killian grabbed for the torch. “So, indoor lighting.” He moved the flame to the ground and seconds later, the substance caught the flames, and with a fizzling sound, a low burning flame ran through the groove, spreading throughout the room. The brothers watched as the room became more and more alight with the now low burning flames. The grooves all formed an intricate pattern over the floor and moved up towards where they’d seen the blue light. Now they could clearly see a raised platform on top of a wide staircase. 

They carefully moved up towards the platform and as they approached the blue light, they could see a long blue crystal resting on top of the platform. 

“The Olympian Crystal,” Killian whispered in awe. When they had first heard the tales of the crystal, they had both thought it was nothing but a myth. But then they came across old maps and logbooks that pointed towards a lost Olympian temple. 

Liam reached out and let his finger slide over the ridges of the crystal; the pale blue light that emanated from it seemed to shift and change as he touched it. 

“Careful brother,” Killian warned, but Liam grabbed the crystal and when nothing happened, they both sighed in relief. 

“We did it,” Liam said in wonder, his eyes catching Killian’s, and they both let out a victorious cry. Killian clasped his brother’s shoulder as they looked at the crystal in Liam’s hand. 

“That we did,” Killian exclaimed and was amazed that they had managed to find the mythical Olympian Crystal. 

“We’ll get the darkness out now,” Liam said and waved the crystal between them, then frowned.

“First we will have to find someone who holds strong light magic,” Killian said in resignation. While it had been a struggle in itself to even locate the crystal, the next path seemed utterly impossible. “Bloody hell.” He tugged at his long hair, which usually fell over his pointed ears, hiding the fact that he and his brother were both part elven. 

“Didn’t the seer also mention something of True Love?” Liam asked and gave Killian the crystal so he could store it safely in his satchel. 

“Aye.” Killian secured their newly acquired treasure and sighed. “How the bloody hell do we find someone with True Love?”

“The elves are said to be firm believers in True Love.” Liam shrugged, then he rubbed over his own pointed ear hidden under his long dark brown hair. “Even if we do have some elven parts, I’m not trusting that True Love will ever find us.” 

“We’re bloody pirates to boot, and our souls are tainted with our father’s darkness, and it’s only getting stronger.” Killian shook his head, not really believing they would ever find True Love. “But we should be able to find someone with light magic, perhaps that will be enough. We’ll run out of time eventually and the darkness will have consumed our souls.” His skin prickled as the simmering darkness shifted inside him; to this day, it was still manageable, and they survived despite the curse they had inherited from their father. 

“Let’s start by getting out of this place,” Liam suggested and pointed to the exit. Killian nodded in agreement as the two brothers quickly found their way out and made good headway through the dense undergrowth of the forest.

Suddenly, a crackle was heard behind them and a blast of something dark red whizzed past their heads. When they both turned to look, they saw a menacing green-scaled man chortling while his fingers wiggled in front of him. 

“Now Dearies, be some fine gents and give the crystal to me.” The man’s long wavy hair shifted over his face as he tilted his head back and forth. He reached out his hand and wiggled his fingers again. 

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Killian asked, trying not to grab for his satchel, thus giving away where they had the crystal. “And how the hell do you know we have a crystal?” 

“Ah you see, I couldn’t go into that temple meself, so when I saw you two,” he waved his finger between them, “walk inside, I just waited for you to come out.” 

“Who are you?” Liam demanded, stepping forward.

“How delightful, you don’t know me.” The man tapped his chin then chortled again. “Now let me introduce meself then.” He did an overly dramatic bow. “I’m Rumplestiltskin the one and only, and you will do as I say or I’ll have you both skinned like snakes,” he smirked, “and I quite literally am capable of doing just that.” The menacing glint in the man’s beady eyes sent a chill down Killian’s spine; he was sure the man spoke the truth about how he could end their lives. But he wasn’t keen on testing out the theory. 

“You’re the Dark One?” Liam gasped and stepped closer to Killian. “You—” 

“Never mind what they call me.” He waved his hand dismissively in the air.

“Why would you need a crystal?” Killian asked. 

“Killian,” Liam warned. “This is the Dark One—” At this, the green man’s eyes sparkled with delight. “ — He will most likely use the crystal for some devious plan of his.” 

“Ah, so you do have a crystal,” the Dark One laughed. “Now give it here.”  

Both Killian and Liam stepped back and glanced at each other. Killian saw the same resolution in his brother’s eyes, they would never allow the Dark One near their crystal. With a small nod from Liam, they both dove head first into the thick undergrowth to their left. Killian only hoped that their path would lead them to safety. But right now he focused on dodging low-hanging branches and avoiding getting struck by the magic that the Dark One was currently blasting at them. A howl of anger echoed between the trees, and seconds later they could hear him moving closer to them. 

Killian had no idea for how long they stumbled and weaved in between the trees, but suddenly their path was blocked by a deep gorge, and a thundering waterfall to the left had the whole scene covered in a light spray of water. 

“Bloody hell, now what?” But before Killian could make a choice, they had another blast of magic wizz by them, barely missing Liam. 

They turned and saw the Dark One looming at the edge of the trees, his hands lifted, a sneer over his lips, anger in his eyes. “Now give the crystal to me.” 

“We don’t have a crystal,” Killian tried, but he could see his words didn’t mean much. 

“Now which one of you carries it?” Rumple tapped his chin, while still holding the other hand ready to blast his magic. His gaze shifted between Killian and Liam, and suddenly his eyes landed on Killian. “The younger perhaps?” 

“No,” Liam shifted his own satchel, grabbing it tighter. Killian glanced at his brother, wondering what his game plan was.

The Dark One’s eyes narrowed, then lifted his hand towards Killian and flicked his wrist, and suddenly Killian felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Trying to grab at his own throat, he found Liam’s horrified gaze transfixed on what happened. Liam tried to reach out to Killian but the Dark One sneered. “Give me the crystal and I’ll leave your dear brother alone.” 

“I have it here.” Liam took off his satchel and placed it in front of him, his hands raised in the air. “Now let him go.” 

Killian could hardly breathe anymore, black spots began to swim before his eyes, the air slowly seeping from his body. Suddenly he could breathe again, and he took large gulps of air. Before he could even comprehend what happened, the Dark One flicked his other hand and blasted a ball of dark red magic aiming straight for Liam. With his heart pounding in his ears, he watched as his brother was hit by the magic and stumbled back several steps. When Liam began slipping on the muddy edge of the cliffside, Killian bellowed, “Nooooo, Liam!” It all happened so fast that he barely managed to take a step forward before his brother slipped over the edge. Killian saw the fear etched in his brother's eyes, and his lips moving in a silent scream. Killian slumped to his knees, watching his brother tumble to his death, engulfed in the whirling vortex beneath the roaring waterfall. 

“Ah, one down,” the Dark One chortled and when Killian looked behind him, he could see the man getting ready to blast his magic again. 

In one fluent motion, Killian rose to his feet and bellowed, “I will avenge my brother’s death, you bloody wanker.” 

“Now just give me the crystal and I’ll be on my merry way.” The Dark One waved his fingers at him, pointing at Killian’s satchel. “I bet it’s right in there.” 

Killian was frantically searching for a way out of there, but he also had to keep an eye out for any movement the mad man did. 

Before the Dark One said another word they heard the flapping of wings; it sounded like a large bird approaching. When both men turned to look towards the sound, Killian could see a large creature emerge from the mists hanging over the waterfall. As it got closer it looked more and more like, “A flying monkey?” 

“What the hell is she doing here?” The anger in the man’s voice made it clear that whoever was flying on the beast, it wasn’t someone the Dark One had invited. 

Killian didn’t really care; he took a chance and slipped down a narrow path he’d spotted that would take him downriver, leading away from the waterfall. He only hoped that the Dark One had been distracted enough for him to be able to slide down the path without being chased. Just as he made a sharp turn, he picked up broken pieces of the conversation happening above him.

 “What? You don’t have the crystal…” It was a female voice that spoke at a high-pitched tone, sounding exasperated. 

“You were not supposed to be here…”

“Oh but I’m here, and I guess I’ll have to find it myself…” 

“That crystal is mine to find… mark me I’ll find it.” 

“Whatever…” 

Killian slipped down the path, his pants most likely in ruins, but he had to get the hell out of here and hopefully reach the Jolly Roger before the Dark One picked up his trail. When he finally reached the more level parts of the path that followed the brink of the river, he began searching for any signs of his brother. But his search was fruitless, and he knew he had at least another day's travel before he reached the sea. So he pushed forward and barely stopped to eat, only to fill up his waterskin whenever he crossed a smaller stream of water. 

Early morning, he reached the shore and signaled for the crew to sail in with the longboat to pick him up. Minutes later he watched as the crew rowed the longboat to shore. Once they realized that only one Jones brother had returned, the group of men grew solemn, and with no words shared they returned to the Jolly Roger. It wasn’t a difficult decision to make; when Killian climbed on board the ship, he took over his brother’s role as captain of the enchanted ship the Jolly Roger. For the next many years, he would travel the realms and to his crew’s surprise, he never seemed to age. He often excused it with their many travels to Neverland, a hellhole in all the realms, but he did make a few lucrative deals with the devil ruling the island. Deals often included him spending more time than his crew on the island. 

The years passed and each time anything regarding magic happened around him, he would flee and make haste to set sails. He knew the Dark One would be looking for him, and searched the realms for the crystal that he still had in his possession. None of his crew knew of the crystal, all they had been told was that the brothers had searched for something. When he returned he’d claimed the mission to be a failure, only gaining an enemy in the Dark One. 

Killian searched the realms they sailed through for anyone with light magic; it had only been an endless string of failures every time he came across someone wielding magic, though. As such, he spent years struggling with the looming darkness shifting around in his soul. It messed with his mind, making him do and speak things that he would never have done on his own accord. The darkness ruled his life and knowing none with light magic, he ended up not believing him to ever be free of the darkness. At his darkest moments, he cursed his father’s elven magic that had caused the darkness to seep into him and his brother. But this was his life, he was a pirate and a bloody good one too; perhaps the darkness did help in this regard, yet he never felt as if this was the life he wanted to live. What more was there to find in life?

The Dark Elven

A/N: This fic was started way back in April, I wanted to take part in this year’s CSSNS event on Tumblr. This is my contribution, it had always been my intent to write something inspired by The Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit elves. I even made a moodboard/collage when I first started writing, I shared it on my Tumblr back in April. 

I was so friggin happy when I learned that I was paired with the talented piinfeathers, she has made the amazing cover art for me. (In two versions, one dawn/day and one night… the dawn one is going to be my “official” cover as it fits with a scene that comes later on. I have both versions set up side by side on my computer wallpaper, I love them so much.)

This will be multichapter and I have yet to find the ending in this, currently, I have 8 chapters written and we have yet to reach the final “battle”. I will try and spread out my updates so I’ll post one each week, I will do my best to remember to do it each Wednesday. In the next two weeks, you will have to excuse me if I forget as I’m on vacation. 

I need to make one more shoutout and that is for my very helpful beta reader Ultraluckycatnd. Without her, it would be filled with cringy typos and grammar errors. 

I hope you will enjoy this as much as I’ve enjoyed the process of writing this, and continue to enjoy it. Let me know in a review what you think of this. 

Prologue

“Come now, little brother,” Liam urged, pushing away another low-hanging branch. 

“It’s younger brother,” Killian grumbled as his foot got tangled in another gnarled root. “Do we even know if the bloody crystal is in the temple; that it is perhaps nothing but a myth? It could be anywhere in this godforsaken place.” He looked at the dense forest around them; they had trekked through this place for hours. 

Liam inspected his compass and compared his notes on a small tattered parchment. “We’re almost there.” He pointed ahead of the tiny trail that could hardly be called anything else but thick woodland. Liam chopped off the twisted vines that blocked their passage with his cutlass. Liam was an expert at wielding the weapon and had taught Killian as they worked their way up the ranks on Captain Nemo’s pirate ship. When the old captain had died, Liam had taken up the mantle of Captain on the Jolly Roger.  

“I bloody well hope so.” Killian swatted at a mosquito that buzzed around his ears. 

“Look.” Liam stopped in his tracks and pointed with his cutlass. “It’s right there brother.” 

“So the crystal is in there?” Killian managed to push forward so he stood next to his brother. “This place looks haunted.” The tall, almost pyramid-shaped structure rose above them, intricate symbols lined the walls and around what looked to be the entrance. 

“Come now, Killian.” Liam took a step forward, eyes scanning the large open area in front of the lost temple. 

Killian followed his brother and they reached the entrance, and Liam checked his map and notes again. Finally, he nodded. “I know how to get in.” He reached out and pressed the Greek letters in the correct order. 

Moments later, the large entryway opened up and they could see a dark hallway. Liam found his torch in his backpack and, using a firesteel, the flame caught the oil in the torch. 

“Are you sure about this?” Killian looked into the darkness, his skin prickled in fear.

“Come now, brother.” Liam pushed through a layer of cobwebs and lifted the torch as he stepped inside. “Be careful where you step,” he warned as he walked further inside.

Killian glanced over his shoulder, making sure that no one had picked up on their trail. But the forest around them was still, perhaps a bit too quiet. Taking a deep breath, he hurried after his brother. “That bloody crystal better be here.” 

“It will be, the charts have yet to fail us,” Liam said as he led them deeper into the ancient Greek temple. The temple that they had spent days locating was in the middle of some deep forest area in Camelot, close to the borders of Misthaven. Misthaven was the land of elves, and who knew if they in fact hadn’t already crossed the borders between the two realms. 

Finally, the hallway seemed to open up in front of them, and they stepped out into a cavernous room, the light from the torch never reaching the ceiling. 

As they scanned the area ahead of them, they saw a faint flickering of blue light further into the room. 

“So this is an old temple of Zeus?” Killian asked, surprised that his voice didn’t echo through the vastness of the room. 

“It is.” Liam pointed to the blue light. “I think that is the crystal.” 

The two brothers walked carefully over the floor, stepping over several shallow grooves that had been cut out into the floor; it looked like it was filled with something. Killian crouched down. “Hold on brother.” When Liam turned to him he said, “What do you suppose this substance is?” He pointed to the not quite liquid but still not solid mass in the grooves. 

“Careful,” Liam warned. He pulled out a small knife and dipped the tip of it into the substance, then he carefully lifted it to his face and sniffed. “Smells like burning oil, and some other things I can’t place.” 

Killian grabbed for the torch. “So, indoor lighting.” He moved the flame to the ground and seconds later, the substance caught the flames, and with a fizzling sound, a low burning flame ran through the groove, spreading throughout the room. The brothers watched as the room became more and more alight with the now low burning flames. The grooves all formed an intricate pattern over the floor and moved up towards where they’d seen the blue light. Now they could clearly see a raised platform on top of a wide staircase. 

They carefully moved up towards the platform and as they approached the blue light, they could see a long blue crystal resting on top of the platform. 

“The Olympian Crystal,” Killian whispered in awe. When they had first heard the tales of the crystal, they had both thought it was nothing but a myth. But then they came across old maps and logbooks that pointed towards a lost Olympian temple. 

Liam reached out and let his finger slide over the ridges of the crystal; the pale blue light that emanated from it seemed to shift and change as he touched it. 

“Careful brother,” Killian warned, but Liam grabbed the crystal and when nothing happened, they both sighed in relief. 

“We did it,” Liam said in wonder, his eyes catching Killian’s, and they both let out a victorious cry. Killian clasped his brother’s shoulder as they looked at the crystal in Liam’s hand. 

“That we did,” Killian exclaimed and was amazed that they had managed to find the mythical Olympian Crystal. 

“We’ll get the darkness out now,” Liam said and waved the crystal between them, then frowned.

“First we will have to find someone who holds strong light magic,” Killian said in resignation. While it had been a struggle in itself to even locate the crystal, the next path seemed utterly impossible. “Bloody hell.” He tugged at his long hair, which usually fell over his pointed ears, hiding the fact that he and his brother were both part elven. 

“Didn’t the seer also mention something of True Love?” Liam asked and gave Killian the crystal so he could store it safely in his satchel. 

“Aye.” Killian secured their newly acquired treasure and sighed. “How the bloody hell do we find someone with True Love?”

“The elves are said to be firm believers in True Love.” Liam shrugged, then he rubbed over his own pointed ear hidden under his long dark brown hair. “Even if we do have some elven parts, I’m not trusting that True Love will ever find us.” 

“We’re bloody pirates to boot, and our souls are tainted with our father’s darkness, and it’s only getting stronger.” Killian shook his head, not really believing they would ever find True Love. “But we should be able to find someone with light magic, perhaps that will be enough. We’ll run out of time eventually and the darkness will have consumed our souls.” His skin prickled as the simmering darkness shifted inside him; to this day, it was still manageable, and they survived despite the curse they had inherited from their father. 

“Let’s start by getting out of this place,” Liam suggested and pointed to the exit. Killian nodded in agreement as the two brothers quickly found their way out and made good headway through the dense undergrowth of the forest.

Suddenly, a crackle was heard behind them and a blast of something dark red whizzed past their heads. When they both turned to look, they saw a menacing green-scaled man chortling while his fingers wiggled in front of him. 

“Now Dearies, be some fine gents and give the crystal to me.” The man’s long wavy hair shifted over his face as he tilted his head back and forth. He reached out his hand and wiggled his fingers again. 

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Killian asked, trying not to grab for his satchel, thus giving away where they had the crystal. “And how the hell do you know we have a crystal?” 

“Ah you see, I couldn’t go into that temple meself, so when I saw you two,” he waved his finger between them, “walk inside, I just waited for you to come out.” 

“Who are you?” Liam demanded, stepping forward.

“How delightful, you don’t know me.” The man tapped his chin then chortled again. “Now let me introduce meself then.” He did an overly dramatic bow. “I’m Rumplestiltskin the one and only, and you will do as I say or I’ll have you both skinned like snakes,” he smirked, “and I quite literally am capable of doing just that.” The menacing glint in the man’s beady eyes sent a chill down Killian’s spine; he was sure the man spoke the truth about how he could end their lives. But he wasn’t keen on testing out the theory. 

“You’re the Dark One?” Liam gasped and stepped closer to Killian. “You—” 

“Never mind what they call me.” He waved his hand dismissively in the air.

“Why would you need a crystal?” Killian asked. 

“Killian,” Liam warned. “This is the Dark One—” At this, the green man’s eyes sparkled with delight. “ — He will most likely use the crystal for some devious plan of his.” 

“Ah, so you do have a crystal,” the Dark One laughed. “Now give it here.”  

Both Killian and Liam stepped back and glanced at each other. Killian saw the same resolution in his brother’s eyes, they would never allow the Dark One near their crystal. With a small nod from Liam, they both dove head first into the thick undergrowth to their left. Killian only hoped that their path would lead them to safety. But right now he focused on dodging low-hanging branches and avoiding getting struck by the magic that the Dark One was currently blasting at them. A howl of anger echoed between the trees, and seconds later they could hear him moving closer to them. 

Killian had no idea for how long they stumbled and weaved in between the trees, but suddenly their path was blocked by a deep gorge, and a thundering waterfall to the left had the whole scene covered in a light spray of water. 

“Bloody hell, now what?” But before Killian could make a choice, they had another blast of magic wizz by them, barely missing Liam. 

They turned and saw the Dark One looming at the edge of the trees, his hands lifted, a sneer over his lips, anger in his eyes. “Now give the crystal to me.” 

“We don’t have a crystal,” Killian tried, but he could see his words didn’t mean much. 

“Now which one of you carries it?” Rumple tapped his chin, while still holding the other hand ready to blast his magic. His gaze shifted between Killian and Liam, and suddenly his eyes landed on Killian. “The younger perhaps?” 

“No,” Liam shifted his own satchel, grabbing it tighter. Killian glanced at his brother, wondering what his game plan was.

The Dark One’s eyes narrowed, then lifted his hand towards Killian and flicked his wrist, and suddenly Killian felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Trying to grab at his own throat, he found Liam’s horrified gaze transfixed on what happened. Liam tried to reach out to Killian but the Dark One sneered. “Give me the crystal and I’ll leave your dear brother alone.” 

“I have it here.” Liam took off his satchel and placed it in front of him, his hands raised in the air. “Now let him go.” 

Killian could hardly breathe anymore, black spots began to swim before his eyes, the air slowly seeping from his body. Suddenly he could breathe again, and he took large gulps of air. Before he could even comprehend what happened, the Dark One flicked his other hand and blasted a ball of dark red magic aiming straight for Liam. With his heart pounding in his ears, he watched as his brother was hit by the magic and stumbled back several steps. When Liam began slipping on the muddy edge of the cliffside, Killian bellowed, “Nooooo, Liam!” It all happened so fast that he barely managed to take a step forward before his brother slipped over the edge. Killian saw the fear etched in his brother's eyes, and his lips moving in a silent scream. Killian slumped to his knees, watching his brother tumble to his death, engulfed in the whirling vortex beneath the roaring waterfall. 

“Ah, one down,” the Dark One chortled and when Killian looked behind him, he could see the man getting ready to blast his magic again. 

In one fluent motion, Killian rose to his feet and bellowed, “I will avenge my brother’s death, you bloody wanker.” 

“Now just give me the crystal and I’ll be on my merry way.” The Dark One waved his fingers at him, pointing at Killian’s satchel. “I bet it’s right in there.” 

Killian was frantically searching for a way out of there, but he also had to keep an eye out for any movement the mad man did. 

Before the Dark One said another word they heard the flapping of wings; it sounded like a large bird approaching. When both men turned to look towards the sound, Killian could see a large creature emerge from the mists hanging over the waterfall. As it got closer it looked more and more like, “A flying monkey?” 

“What the hell is she doing here?” The anger in the man’s voice made it clear that whoever was flying on the beast, it wasn’t someone the Dark One had invited. 

Killian didn’t really care; he took a chance and slipped down a narrow path he’d spotted that would take him downriver, leading away from the waterfall. He only hoped that the Dark One had been distracted enough for him to be able to slide down the path without being chased. Just as he made a sharp turn, he picked up broken pieces of the conversation happening above him.

 “What? You don’t have the crystal…” It was a female voice that spoke at a high-pitched tone, sounding exasperated. 

“You were not supposed to be here…”

“Oh but I’m here, and I guess I’ll have to find it myself…” 

“That crystal is mine to find… mark me I’ll find it.” 

“Whatever…” 

Killian slipped down the path, his pants most likely in ruins, but he had to get the hell out of here and hopefully reach the Jolly Roger before the Dark One picked up his trail. When he finally reached the more level parts of the path that followed the brink of the river, he began searching for any signs of his brother. But his search was fruitless, and he knew he had at least another day's travel before he reached the sea. So he pushed forward and barely stopped to eat, only to fill up his waterskin whenever he crossed a smaller stream of water. 

Early morning, he reached the shore and signaled for the crew to sail in with the longboat to pick him up. Minutes later he watched as the crew rowed the longboat to shore. Once they realized that only one Jones brother had returned, the group of men grew solemn, and with no words shared they returned to the Jolly Roger. It wasn’t a difficult decision to make; when Killian climbed on board the ship, he took over his brother’s role as captain of the enchanted ship the Jolly Roger. For the next many years, he would travel the realms and to his crew’s surprise, he never seemed to age. He often excused it with their many travels to Neverland, a hellhole in all the realms, but he did make a few lucrative deals with the devil ruling the island. Deals often included him spending more time than his crew on the island. 

The years passed and each time anything regarding magic happened around him, he would flee and make haste to set sails. He knew the Dark One would be looking for him, and searched the realms for the crystal that he still had in his possession. None of his crew knew of the crystal, all they had been told was that the brothers had searched for something. When he returned he’d claimed the mission to be a failure, only gaining an enemy in the Dark One. 

Killian searched the realms they sailed through for anyone with light magic; it had only been an endless string of failures every time he came across someone wielding magic, though. As such, he spent years struggling with the looming darkness shifting around in his soul. It messed with his mind, making him do and speak things that he would never have done on his own accord. The darkness ruled his life and knowing none with light magic, he ended up not believing him to ever be free of the darkness. At his darkest moments, he cursed his father’s elven magic that had caused the darkness to seep into him and his brother. But this was his life, he was a pirate and a bloody good one too; perhaps the darkness did help in this regard, yet he never felt as if this was the life he wanted to live. What more was there to find in life?

#cssns 2022 #ouat #fanfiction #once upon a time #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #my writing #writers #writers on tumblr #elves #inspired by tolkien #cssns22

[michaeljoncarter]

aquaman: andromeda has awakened the annoying artist side of me like nothing has in years, and i’m making it everyone’s problem

the concept of a deep sea cosmic horror based on point nemo alone is just. magnifique. mixing the horror of all the unknowns of the deep sea and the horror of the unknowns of deep space is an absolutely BANGER concept, and i’m absolutely obsessed with the way they’ve tied it into arthur’s character and the ART!

here’s a post super overanalyzing some stuff because i’m in LOVE and i can’t stop thinking about it. this is a big, rambling mess and i don’t apologize at all. many thoughts, many thoughts. none of them cohesive

the deep ocean is drawn in a way that makes it virtually indistinguishable from outer space. it’s absolutely gorgeous and so incredibly alien, and they do some really interesting things with it

the way the drop off into the depths is drawn to mirror the black hole in the beginning! with the ice on the surface resembling the accretion disk!

this portrayal of the ocean as cold and dark and void is in such sharp contrast with the way the surface is portrayed as so full of light, the sun in nearly every panel of the single scene we get during the day, complete with light flares, halos, and sunbeams to emphasize it

even at night, northern lights, fire, and/or the moon feature prominently in almost every panel above water

and the way this stark contrast between the surface and the sea manifests in arthur is both fascinating and completely fucking horrific

the human parts of him want nothing more than to stay on the surface (“One half of him wants for the touch of air on skin. Sunlight on his shoulders.”), but the atlantean parts want the exact opposite. and the atlantean side wins. every time. (“The other half opens its maw and awaits your inevitable return.”)

it’s really interesting how it doesn’t seem like he has much of a choice in the matter at all. it’s like he’s just completely unable to escape the urge to return to the sea, no matter how hard he tries. (not unlike light unable to escape a black hole, if you want to look way too deep into it)

and it’s also interesting how this all ties back to the story told in the beginning

I remember my father loved telling stories about the water. He spent his years on trawlers, fishing for langouste in the Biscay bay. Never put enough together to have his own boat, but you couldn't drag him away from the water, still. He was in love with it. 

"We live on two worlds, Yvette," he would say. "The surface of the sea is but a meniscus. Be careful what you commit to the water... the shapes of things change once they are within. In her embrace ever we seek to drown our sins, but beware the shapes of forgotten things. Our fears and dreams are not our own once they are beneath. Those are now for the sunless depths, the crawling bed, and the king beneath the sea."

 the “king beneath the sea” is obviously meant to make you think of arthur, but, really, it all applies to arthur.

he (or his father, depending on how you want to look at it, which could add another layer of comparison to the father telling the story) “committed too much to the water.” the “shape of him” has changed. he is “not his own,” “for the sunless depths.” the conversation he has with soatha pretty much directly mirrors this quote if you look at it closely like it’s all just SO

#wednesday spoilers #aquaman andromeda #arthur curry #this post is a MESS but i'm simply obsessed #the parallels the imagery the motifs #scream scream scream

[maegalkarven]

AU where Dark Urge didn't loose memories and the events in Moonrise Towers in act 2 went a tag differently. Or very differently.

Fucking everything up in a new, interesting way.

Characters: m!Dark Urge, Enver Gortash, Orin the Red, Ketheric Thorm, Isobel Thorm, Dame Aylin, Wyll Ravengard, Ulder Ravengard (mentioned), Karlach.

m!Dark Urge x Enver Gortash.

It was a stupid fucking plan from the very beginning of it.

To go to the Moonrise Towers to – what, confront Ketheric? Confront the Chosen of the God of the Dead?

Nemo knew better than the others what an idiotic idea it was.

But Nightsong already took a flight, and harpers moved to attack – and what was Nemo supposed to do?

He was a wreck, a shadow of his former self, weak as a kitten, clumsy as a newborn owlcub. He was the failed Chosen of Bhaal going to a place what was his demise.

Swooped by the currents of events unfolding, he had no plan.

But again, Nemo was never the plan guy; it was Gortash’s forte, it was his work. He was the brain of their plan, the brain of all of their operations. He thought things through as Nemo sliced around, creating chaos, bringing havoc, painting world in blood.

But it was before. Before Orin took her swing, before Nemo’s once great abilities were reduced to dust, before he became weak. So weak he had to depend on others, so weak he required, no, needed allies.

The voice of Father dull in his head; illithid parasite had to do something with it, had to change the rules the same way it changed them for Astarion.

Funny, before that whole mess Nemo would never put himself and a vampire spawn on the same page. But now? Oh, how alike they were, the spawns of unrelenting cruel force commanding their will, puppets of someone else’s play.

Waking up on nautiloid was akin to waking up from a fewer dream. The Urge...subsided. It was pushed back, held at bay. He was almost alone in his own head, more alone when he ever was with Father’s constant will moving his hands.

But what good did this free will do if he was about to die anyway, probably in the same damn place he died the first time? Would Orin be the one to slice through him one final time?

Nemo was never the one for plans, as clever as he was. Gortash always claimed it drove him mad, for Nemo had all the intellect, but rarely put it to good use.

“You have to exercise your mind the same way you train your body,” his unexpected ally would say. “Otherwise what use is it to you? You, my dear murderer, is capable of much greater things than your father foresees for you.”

These thoughts were atrocious, they were heretical, they were...compelling. Flattering, warming some deep corners of the soul Nemo didn’t know he had.

No wonder lordling ended up luring Nemo into his bed.

No wonder Orin saw her brother’s newfound weakness and used it against him.

Clever little thing, his slaughter-kin, to shift into Gortash to approach him. He was a fool to lower his defenses, of course he was.

He paid for it greatly.

“We’re moving down,” Isobel acknowledged. She, a daughter of a man who turned his back to two gods for her sake. She, the priestess of a goddess Ketheric Thorm forsaken. She, a child brave enough to confront her father.

Nemo hated her before he knew her.

He hated her for the way Ketheric turned the world upside down for her to live; he hated her for how ridiculously loved she was.

She hated her because even after being corrupted by Myrkul’s unholy powers, she still dared to stay unstained. Holy. Good.

He hated her so much his whole body hurt.

She who denied her father’s love, she who had love so selfless, so unconditional-

Father’s love was always conditional. Father’s love was always a leash and never a caress.

Father’s love hurt no matter how much Nemo craved it.

Oh, how he wished he could stifle the light of her life; oh how he wanted to see Ketheric’s face as he would tell him, in every gruesome detail, how his precious daughter died the second time.

How everything Ketheric did, everything he betrayed was for naught.

But Nemo was not what he used to be: he was weak, and Isobel was his advantage in a fight against her father. Her and Nightsong, but Nemo wasn’t even sure if aasimar was alive; the last he saw of her was when Elder Brain dragged the woman down.

Down, down, down-

Down they went.

Nemo didn’t want to go down there. He didn’t want to confront anyone, he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t strong, he-

He wanted to go home.

Home, such a strange concept it is.

Bhaal’s temple was never his home, even if it was the only shelter he has ever known.

No, home was...

Home was a mechanical clicking of devices operating in Gortash’s workshop. Home was the dim light and the huge table covered in papers; the smell of hot iron and smoke, and the man with fingers stained in ink.

The bitter bile rose up his throat at the thought of it.

The Chosen of Bane was never supposed to be his home.

The Chosen of Bane was his enemy.

Nemo has failed his life’s purpose in more ways than he could count.

And yet he wanted to go back; to the security of that place, to the delighted glint in the other man’s eyes, the mad plans, the notes on the table, the open books, the diagrams, the warmth of his skin as Nemo dragged Enver away from his work:

"Rest, you need to rest. It’s unbecoming of you to run yourself ragged like that. Sleep, your machines will not disappear overnight."

The way he struggled, tried to argue as exhaustion overtook his body. The way Lord Enver Gortash, the tyrant in the making, looked vulnerable in front of him in a way, Nemo suspected, he never looked in front of anyone else.

The way Nemo went to bed with him and expected to wake up in a pool of blood, but never did.

Because some part of him resisted Father even then. Some part of him claimed Enver Gortash for himself.

And it cost him greatly.

Nemo wondered if returning to Moonrise Towers could be classified as ‘coming home’.

He wondered if his home would meet him with windows shut and new lock on the door. He wondered how quickly he would be discarded by a man having no use for him anymore.

Turned out, Nemo was a fucking idiot.

***

It happens faster than it has any right to be; Ketheric spots Isobel, Wyll sees his father, Karlach lurches at Gortash, and Orin...

Orin steps away from the Elder Brain and smiles.

“My poor slaughter-kin,” she coos. “Came back so I could finish what I’ve started, did you not?”

And then the moves.

And fuck, Nemo forgot how fast she is, and he is so out of it, he is but a shell of his former self; his body is weak, feeble, damaged-

Orin knows it. Orin was the one who damaged it in the first place.

Nemo is vaguely aware of Isobel reaching out to Nightsong and freeing her from the bonds, he thinks he hears Gortash trying to reel Orin and Ketheric back in:

“Orin, we haven’t finished, the Brain didn’t receive command yet, come back here- Ketheric, two stones can’t hold it down, we need the third, Ketheric, forget about your daughter, come right here and make yourself useful for a change-“

But Ketheric doesn’t listen. Orin doesn’t listen. Everyone is too wrapped up in their own issues, their own grudges, their own fights. Karlach slices through the undead servant and knocks Gortash into the ground, only to be pushed back by a force of small explosive detonating right into her face. It doesn’t damage her much, but pushes back a significant amount.

“My poor brother,” Orin taints as Nemo tries to dodge one of her slices and comes out short. Blood oozes from the new cut and his murder-kin giggles. “So out of it, so pathetically weak. I did a good job on you, brother dear. But,” another smile, another attack. Nemo barely parries it in time. “I can do better. Father knows I can do better, Father knows you have failed him. He loves you no more, my failure of a brother. He has left you.”

Nemo would love to argue what Father went nowhere, what he still haunts Nemo’s every waking and dreaming moment, what the only thing stopping the God of Murder from consuming his wayward son is the illithid parasite in the bhaalspawn’s brain. But he doesn’t have the time, he doesn’t have the strength, he is failing, and-

The next strike to come is fatal.

Or it would be, if not for a huge tentacle of the brain to come flying out of nowhere.

Sending Orin flying right into the Morphic pool.

To the Brain.

With her stone.

Fuck.

Nemo turns around and meets a bewildered stare of Enver fucking Gortash, the man who just successfully compromised his own plan - their plan - beyond any recovery.

A fool.

Nemo’s blood is so loud in his ears he can barely hear; his heart is throwing itself against the cage of his ribs with a force unbeknown to him before.

He feels elevated, he feels scared, but most of all he feels-

“What the fuck did you do?” he snarls and everything, miraculously, stills. Everyone freezes, staring between them in a mix of surprise and dread.

Everyone feels what something just went very wrong.

“I-“ Enver starts, but Nemo gives him no chance to continue.

“You just threw the Netherstone to the Brain! The Netherstone we use to control the Brain! And you just threw it right at it,” there’s indignation burning in him but also...confusion?

Why? Why would Enver do something like that? Why would he compromise everything? Why would he-

“She was about to kill you,” Gortash seethes. “I saved your life.”

“By dooming everyone and everything in the process,” Nemo shouts back. “By dooming yourself. By the gods, Ketheric, did you see that? How he just- Ruined everything?”

“I did in fact see that,” Ketheric, who is pretty much being held down at the fire point, states. The only thing stopping Nightsong from murdering him here and now is Isobel’s hand on her shoulder. “It was a very stupid thing to do.”

Gortash looks appalled at that.

“I just saved his life!” he repeats like this fixes everything. Like it explains anything. There’s a mad look in his eyes, of a man who just realized what he has done. Then he turns to Nemo. “I saved your life, you ungrateful little-“

“Why?” comes out so quietly it’s barely a whisper.

At first Nemo thinks he asked that, the question was definitely on the tip of his tongue. But no, the voice belongs to Karlach. She rises from the ground, shaken but unhurt.

“I know you; you’re an awful fucking person who only cares for his own well-being. Why would you do something like that,” she gestures at Nemo and Nemo makes a face at her. He knows how he looks, thank you very much. “For him?”

Gortash opens his mouth, hesitates. His eyes dart to Nemo and Nemo meets his gaze with just as inquisitive expression as the one on Karlach’s face.

“Yes, Enver,” he agrees. “Why?”

But Enver never gets to answer, for in that precise moment the waters of the Morphic pool part and a figure crawls out.

A figure of a pale woman with even paler eyes, dressed in red.

Orin.

She takes a step, then another.

And something is wrong.

Her movements are unsteady; her head dangles as if she’s held up the strings and her eyes-

They’re vacant, her eyes, almost empty. They’re...peaceful, and Orin has never been peaceful in her entire damn life.

Nemo makes the involuntary step forward and is immediately held back by Wyll, who, gods only know how, managed to not only teleport his father right next to Karlach, but also come back to Nemo, and is now holding him firmly by the forearm.

“Don’t,” he whispers into Nemo’s ear. “This is not your sister.”

“Orin?” Nemo calls out regardless, because this is his sister. It has to be.

Orin raises her head and looks straight at him. Then she opens her mouth and speaks:

“Praise the Absolute.”

“By the Nine Hells,” Karlach curses. “She got tadpolled.”

“And she has the stone,” Ketheric is the first one to move, ripping himself out of Nightsong’s grip and stepping forward.

“Well, shit.”

An overwhelming, overbearing horror embraces Nemo.

Orin, his little sister. Orin, his murderer, his torturer.

Orin, the perfect slayer. The puppet of the Absolute.

“Maybe I can use the prism,” he starts. “I can bring her back to her senses.”

“And then what?” Wyll argues and it takes Nemo an embarrassingly long time to realize his friend has already started to pull him away. “She’ll try to kill us on her own volition and not the Brain’s? No.”

“We need to go,” Gortash speaks up. “Quickly, now.”

“There’s no ‘we,’”, Karlach argues. “And ‘we’ are not going anywhere with you.”

“Karlach, now is not the time to argue-“

“You sold me to Zariel-“

“Father?” Isobel calls out. “Father, what are you doing?”

Ketheric unsheathes his sword.

“Atoning,” he speaks. The moves to rip the Netherstone from his armor and throw it at Nemo. Nemo, surprisingly, manages to catch it. “Keep it safe,” the man orders and oh, is this his general voice now? “Keep her safe.”

Nemo doesn’t need to ask who he means by that. Instead he argues.

“I am a murderer, you know that, right?” as if any sane argument would work right now. “A murder incarnate. I do not keep people safe.”

“This time you will,” and this is why Ketheric was so feared and respected; a single hard stare pins Nemo to the ground. “Or I will come back and hunt you down to the end of Toriel. To the end of every known realm, if I have to.”

“Not to interrupt this fine and lovely conversation, but general,” Gortash looks just as puzzled as Nemo feels. “What are you doing again?”

The man has some strength enough to smirk.

“What I should have done long time ago,” he sends Isobel a long, sickeningly loving gaze. “The right thing. Isobel.”

“Father,” the girl’s chin trembles. “Father, I don’t-“

“I love you more than any god could understand,” the old general speaks. “And I will never regret bringing you back, never. But now,” he turns his gaze back and manages to parry the quick, efficient and entirely deadly strike of Bhaal’s unloved daughter. “You have to live. And I...I have to take a stand. Go,” he says. “Go,” he commands. “I will hold her back for as long as I can.”

“The undying against the slayer,” Gortash murmurs as he already sprints towards the elevated platform.

The ground shakes as the Brain breaks out of its bonds, bit by bit, slowly but surely. The wave of psionic energy what comes their way almost knocks them all down.

“Go,” Nemo shouts as he and Wyll teleport closer to the exit. Thank fuck for the teleportation spells. Thank fuck for Wyll.

Karlach all but carries dazed Ravengard away as Dame Aylin takes Isobel in her arms and takes flight.

“Go, go, go!” he repeats as a familiar hand grabs him by the shoulder. Nemo doesn’t have time to think, doesn’t have time to act as he is dragged the remaining way to the platform by no-one but the tyrant himself.

The moment Karlach reaches the platform Wyll hits the control panel and they start to rise. Nemo is afraid it is not fast enough.

From the height of their ascend he sees the undying general fight off the slayer. Two Chosen of Gods against each other.

Even from that far away it is clear Ketheric will fall.

He sacrificed himself. He brought them time.

Fool.

***

Down below the illithid colony, amidst the Hell of his own creation, general Ketheric Thorm receives one last, final blow.

Blood oozes out of his wounds, painting the floor red. Above him a woman dressed in red stands; eyes vacant, empty, soulless.

But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.

Isobel is safe. And Ketheric...

“Melodia,” he whispers as the last breath leaves his body. “I am coming.”

Somehow he knows she is waiting for him; what she has always waited for him, no matter how far he strayed.

Ketheric Thorm dies peacefully. It feels like falling asleep.

#dark urge: nemo #enver gortash #ketheric thorm #isobel thorm #dame aylin #karlach #wyll ravengard #orin the red #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 spoilers #is it a fix it if i ruin everything in a different way? #is it ketheric thorm redemption fix? yes #durge is a half-drow assasin named Nemo #who is WEAK AS FUCK thanks Orin #also it's kind of a good run as you can see it bc nemo is not strong or powerful enough to be evil #evil is a luxury #this is this fic where gortash accidentally pushes orin into the morphic pool #TO the elder brain. WITH her stone #oh joy #also a fix it where Ketheric gets to atone and Gortash is forced to work together with the team of tadfools #nemo is bad at feelings #the dark urge #bg3 dark urge #durge spoilers #gortash's pov of this is just: #gortash: *saves nemo* everyone: *disliked that*

[stayalive9129]

#DearMolly

My older sister has this motivation quote in her Instagram "Just Keep Swimming" that really makes me angry. Its a quote from the Finding Nemo movie that has become a meme and a motivation to so many people but then there are those of us who so exhausted, that we could hardly move.

Don't get me wrong. I love my sister and she's great but she has no idea how much her toxic positivity hurts me more than it helps.

"Just keep swimming' she says any time I complain or mention that I feel exhausted. There are those, like my sister, who might love you but who will never understand your struggle...and that's alright.

When I feel the most deppressed and I get the urge to disappear I find that sometimes it does work to talk to someone. I know it's cliche but after my last attempt I started to see a therapist and she definately gets it more than anyone else.

When I told my therapist about how much I hate the "just keep swimming" mentality she told me something that stuck with me and that maybe will help. She said "when you deal with depression there are times when you feel completely drained of energy." She said "As much as your sister has good intentions, telling you to 'just keep swimming' and 'try harder' doesn't work. "

"What you need to do, "she said , "is take things slower...just like if you were in a stuck in a storm in the ocean swimming against the current. What you have to do is stay still and float."

Remmember, "You have to learn to float before you can swim."

It's hard to stay still and not wanna swim faster when we are in this dark storm to escape it. But fighting against it all is exhausting and sometimes it's best to stay still and let the water lead you. Before you drown, take your time and just float.

When the storm is at its worse just close your eyes and breathe and let go. You don't have to give up but for now, give in and rest. We will get through this storm, my #DearMolly

Picture by Alohawares

#just keep swimming #deppresion #anxiety #suicide prevention #mentally exhausted #mental pain #i am deeply unwell #crazy girl #am i crazy #teenage #mental health quotes #988lifeline #social media toxicity #this is too much #dearmolly

[asoulofatlantis]

Just don't ask! (Urg. Even with a Walkthrough its hard to get all 10 troops...)

I wish I would be as confident as him ^^'

Wish me luck. I am going to need it...

I say it will take me like 20 tries and I will stop after 5 or so and I continue tomorrow. Its possible if I have not made it after 20 tries, that I will give up XD

I hate to say it, since he is so very handsome but... I think we REALLY need to get rid of him soon or he will causes us A LOT of trouble ^^'

This is my third try already... I think I am going to cry.

I need 100.000 Point at the end of 3 performances. Needles to say, I won't make it this time. But do not worry. I just play through all of them once, to get a feel for it.

At least I got a tad better with the timing in the second performance ^^'

I mean... it could have been worse... but obviously its not good enough. Lets try again...

At least we have a slightly better start this time...

I have lost a lot of points in this one. There is barely any differents in the points now.

Its going to bee a long evening...

I was so darn close! Damn it!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! DAMN IT!

I NEVER EVER want to see that Minigame again XD (And no, I didn't count.)

I am sorry. I was so relieved that I finally made it, that I forgot to screenshot the Tifa and Aerith hug. It was cute tho.

All this work to run right into his trap... Captain Nemo would be proud of me XD

Well... we can all agree that man and woman alike feel... really drawn to this man. Not all of them know his dark secrets tho... so... I would keep my distance if I were you, Rufus.

Uh... did... Rufus just let me go?

I am shaking like an idiot. That Mini-Mission took all my energy. So I have to stop playing for today. Progress made? Not ENOUGH!

#ff7r mona version

[vaingloury]

“Dreams will come true, for me and for you...”

Spoilers for Skinamarink and its proof-of-concept film, Heck.

Firstly, I haven’t been to the cinema in years.

Had to really rack my brain to come up with the last movie I saw on the big screen. Last thing I remember seeing was The Incredibles (2004). I thought, ‘Surely, there had to be something else between then and now’. I also remembered seeing Finding Nemo in theatres as a kid, only to look up its release year and find that it came out in 2003. It’s been almost a decade. I’ll try to make an effort to do this more often going forward; it was kind of fun.

Skinamarink broke my movie-going abstinence streak. When it first leaked, there was thread after thread about it on r/horror. I saw it compared to Lynch films and to House of Leaves, both of which I am a super-fan. Then, one of my favourite movie podcasts covered it (and Heck). So out of curiosity and wanting to wait for the official release, I watched Heck. I didn’t like it. I skipped through it again after watching Skinamarink to confirm that I didn’t like it. Sure, it’s easier to follow than Skinamarink. The shot with the boy’s mom sat upright in darkness is quite eerie. But the Jerma sus face demon at the bottom of the stairs near the end of the short film and the final line of dialogue ruined any good will I had up to that point...

...Which are some of the same criticisms I’ve seen of the feature length presentation, I suppose. The sus demon is swapped out with the warped face on the chatter phone; “I think we’re in Hell” for “Put the knife in your eye.” I’ve seen several people on reddit complain of the looping film grain (which I was too engrossed in the film to notice on first watch). 

The film is hard to recommend. It’s a slow burn, so glacial that I’d be lying if I wasn’t primed to nod off in the theatre. I didn’t because of the annoyingly disproportionate volume of the jumpscares (also, some shitty teens ran in my showing halfway through runtime screeching “IS THIS A SCARY MOVIE??” until someone begrudgingly answered “Yes”). The film is a tad too long. The subtitling is inconsistent. Depending on how you read the film, there is/isn’t a payoff. 

I took the ending as either Death commanding the boy to go to (final) sleep or a non-sequential, half-remembered vision of his father commanding the same. I’ve seen some criticism that the subsequent line is a cheap fourth wall break. However, in the subtitles for the leaked cut it reads [CHILD’S VOICE: “What is your name?]

If I had to compare the film to anything, it’s a bizarre mashup of The Mandela Catalogue, David Lynch’s Rabbits, and that vibe of needing to pee at 3am but not wanting to venture out of bed into sheer darkness. If you give it a chance, I urge you to watch the theatrical version if only because I think the ending is edited better. In a sparse theatre or a dark room alone.

I’m probably going to watch the theatrical cut again because I swear there’s a non-sequitur shot of the kitchen where the top of a man’s head is seen that isn’t in the leaked festival cut and I need to know I didn’t hallucinate that.

“Dreams will come true,”

“for me and for you...”

“Somewhere in Dreamland tonight...”

- (recurring leitmotif in the film)

3.7 / 5

#b

[pink-flame]

Like You Could Love Me

So...the Angry Flower Squad was making me SO soft over gifs and @mamirugbee wanted porch fluff with kissing and I remembered that @thedeathdeelers and @missjoolee liked my idea of using this post as a Juke prompt and here we are. I wrote this from 12-2am so it’s quite possibly incoherent and I’m not checking for mistakes until tomorrow so take it for what it is, a late night labor of love. Enjoy! 💜

Julie hadn’t slept for almost 48 hours. 

Her school was hosting a Los Feliz High After Dark event for the lower grades who didn’t get to attend prom. It was pitched as being just as exciting as the dance but in practice was known to be little more than a glorified sleepover in the school gym with PTA members for chaperones. Flynn had been determined that that year would be different, and had talked Julie into joining her on the planning committee. 

The good news was that Flynn had a real flair for party planning and decorating when she was actually invested (see the difference between the dance they tried to forget and the way she had helped Julie’s dad throw together an epic garage party in less than 24 hours). So by the time Julie and Flynn and the other volunteers were done the gym was fully immersed in a carnival theme full of cute booths filled with potential activities and cute backgrounds to take pictures in front of. It was definitely an improvement over the year before which had been an under the sea theme which had consisted mostly of a few blue streamers and Mr. Weaver walking around in an inflatable Nemo costume. 

The bad news was that it had taken a lot longer than they had anticipated and they hadn’t fallen into bed the night before the event until close to 2am. Julie hadn’t been able to sleep even after she slipped into bed next to Flynn and heard her best friend start making the small whistling noises that indicated she was out cold. Julie had been kept up with thoughts of what her bandmates were up to without her and if they had lingered a little longer on what Luke in particular was doing right then, well that wasn’t that surprising. 

She loved Alex and Reggie but neither of them had attempted to hold her hand and remarked on their “interesting little relationship” or suddenly developed the ability to touch her and instinctively joined her in reaching out to gently cradle the other’s face. 

No, Luke was different, not that she wanted to say that in front of him unless she was sure he felt the same overwhelming feelings she did Oddly enough she was much more concerned about the possibility that he didn’t than she was about the fact that he was still..well, a ghost. It wasn’t that she was unaware that his ghostly status could lead to heartache for her later on, of course she was. It just didn’t seem so important suddenly. After what had happened with her mom, what had almost happened with the guys only a couple of months ago...anything could happen at any time. Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed anyway so why deny herself happiness now if she could have it? If she could have it. Because that was still the question. 

Because Luke obviously liked her but did he like her? That sounded so juvenile but to call it anything else...well, that was really scary. Evil ghosts and the looming possibility of their return had nothing on the insecurity that came with not knowing exactly how the boy you lo...liked felt about you. 

So Julie didn’t get much sleep that night, Flynn’s alarm seeming to go off only moments after she finally drifted off. She had dragged through school that day, trying to match Flynn’s excitement for the night’s upcoming festivities though her own enthusiasm had quickly drained out of her altogether along with her energy. In the end it had been as fun a night as it could be with Julie spending most of it in a semi-exhausted haze. She and Flynn had played some of the games they had set up, and danced to the music they both agreed would have been better if it had been either DJ’d by Flynn or performed by Julie’s band, and when Carrie had sneered something about how tacky the theme was even that had been half hearted and without any real bite. 

So it was a pretty good night all things considered and Julie was in a good mood despite her complete exhaustion by the time Flynn’s mom dropped her off early the next morning. Ok, so maybe part of her good mood was actually because of her exhausted state by that point as she found herself feeling giddy and her mind had gone sort of pleasantly fuzzy. That was her excuse for how she found herself half-skipping up the path towards her front door, singing to herself. 

We create...perfect harmony 

“Somebody had a good time.” 

Julie’s head snapped up to take in the figure of the boy who leaned against the pillar of the porch in front of her, a small smile bordering on a smirk tugging at his lips. 

Luke.

What was he doing there? 

Was he waiting for her?

She had to play it cool. 

She had to be normal. 

She had to not give away all the feelings that had been swirling around inside of her for the last couple of months since they first gained the ability to touch each other whenever they wanted and promptly both became too awkward to touch each other at all. 

She had to…

“I missed you,” She blurted. 

One of Julie’s hands flew up to cover her mouth as she took the last few steps up onto the porch, trying and failing to ignore the way Luke’s eyes widened even as that vaguely infuriating smirk grew larger. 

“I didn’t mean that,” She insisted once her hand had dropped back to her side. “I mean...I didn’t not mean it but...I just meant it would have been fun if you could have come. Any of you. All of you. Um...yeah.” 

Luke let her dig herself deeper, waiting until her stream of words had come to a complete stop. When they finally dried up he pushed off of the pillar with one of his signature little bounces, letting his momentum carry him to within a step of where she stood awkwardly on the porch. 

“Did someone spike the punch at this dance?” He asked her, amusement clear in his tone. 

Julie shook her head a little too fiercely, indignant despite the fact that she couldn’t exactly blame him for suspecting that she was drunk. 

She felt a little drunk. 

Not that she knew what it was like to be drunk but she was pretty sure it was similar to this. 

Not the point. 

“It wasn’t a dance it was a school sanctioned slumber party,” She corrected, focusing all of her energy on not slurring her words or otherwise embarrassing herself. “And nobody spiked anything. And actually nobody drinks punch anymore. Just so you know.” 

Luke held up both hands as though he were surrendering but that smirk of his was impossible to deny at this point, a fact that both made Julie incredibly irritated and simultaneously fighting the urge to lean up and kiss it right off his stupid face. 

Ok, that was not helpful. 

“Not a dance, no punch. Got it,” Luke said, his voice just soft enough to keep her annoyance more or less at bay. 

“Why are you out here anyway?” 

Julie hadn’t meant to ask that but it felt like any filter her brain generally had was long gone at this point. 

Luke tilted his head slightly and reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

“Oh, you know, just taking in the view.” 

Julie frowned skeptically. 

“Taking in the view?”

“Yeah,” Luke said, gesturing out at the plant filled yard. “Just communing with nature you know? Honestly, I forgot you were even out last night.” 

“Oh.” 

Julie dipped her head a little so she didn’t have to look directly at Luke as disappointment rushed through her. She was pretty sure she was too tired to keep the evidence of that emotion from being completely visible. She was so frustrated with herself for caring at all. He wasn’t her boyfriend after all. Why would be be waiting for her?

“Julie.” 

She reluctantly raised her head to meet Luke’s gaze which was fixed insistently on her. His smirk had fallen away leaving behind a look at once more open and somehow harder to read at the same time. 

“I’m kidding,” He told her as he took a half-step closer to her, so close that she had to tilt her head up further to maintain eye contact. “I was waiting for you.” 

“Oh,” She said again, very aware that she seemed to have lost the ability to say anything else. 

She reached deep down inside and mustered up the strength to pull out one further word. 

“Why?” 

His eyes somehow managed to soften even more and his voice was oddly breathy when he answered. 

“Because I missed you too.” 

And Julie knew that the most prudent thing to do was tuck that phrase away as something warm, and happy and precious to examine more closely when she had slept and had the mental prowess to actually determine what it meant for their interesting little relationship. 

She knew that. 

But she was exhausted not only from lack of sleep but from months spent questioning where they stood. She was happy to hear him say that he had missed her, of course she was. But she also found herself feeling strangely...angry. 

How dare he look at her with those big soft eyes and stare at her like that if he wasn’t ever planning on actually putting her out of her misery by telling her how he felt or didn’t feel?

“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that,” The words burst out of her without her permission. 

Luke was clearly taken aback by her words, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know,’ She hesitated, just enough awareness seeping back in to make her realize what a truly stupid thing she was about to say. “Like you could love me.” 

She watched as a whole range of emotions rushed over his face too quickly for her to decipher exactly what all of them were. 

“Julie…” 

“Forget I said anything,” Julie interrupted, turning towards the front door with every intention to flee the situation. “I’m just really tired.” 

“Julie!” 

He said her name more forcefully that time and she froze. She didn’t turn back to face him though, the pounding in her chest and the heat spreading across her face giving her all the incentive she needed to keep her head facing away. 

Luke wasn’t having any of that though. 

He reached out to gently tug her back towards him, one hand settling on her cheek while the other rested on her waist. 

If she hadn’t been blushing before she certainly was now. 

“Do you not want me to look at you like that because...because you don’t feel the same?” 

Luke’s voice shook a little as he gave voice to that question, his thumb seeming to stroke across her cheek without his permission. 

Julie was reeling, everything feeling surreal and dreamlike anyway because of her lack of sleep but when combined with Luke’s gentle actions it felt more and more unreal. She couldn’t help but remember the last time he had touched her face, how they had clutched at each other thinking it was the only chance they would ever have. Now they had new chances every day and they had been wasting them. 

Why had they been wasting them?

“Wait...feel the same as what? Feel the same as who?” She asked as her brain finally caught up with what he had actually said. 

He visibly swallowed and she took some comfort in the fact that apparently he was nervous too. 

“The same as I feel,” He paused. “About you. I...I love you, Julie. And if that makes you uncomfortable I never have to say it again, ok? But it’s how I feel and I just wanted to say it. Once or whatever.” 

“But…” Julie felt a giggle rising up inside of her as exhaustion and the pure absurdity of the moment settled in. “But I love you too.” 

Luke’s thumb froze on her face as his eyes lit up with something close to hope. 

“You do?” 

Julie nodded, the giggle finally bursting out of her only to be met with a grin from Luke so radiant she wished she could capture it in a photo to look at later. 

“You love me,” Luke said again as though he needed to confirm beyond any shadow of doubt. 

“I love you,” Julie repeated agreeably. “And you love me?” 

Luke nodded, bouncing a little on his heels as he somehow managed to step even more into her space. 

“I love you.” 

“Well…” Julie sighed happily. “Well, that’s great then.” 

Luke let out a bark of laughter that probably would have been loud enough to bring her dad to the porch if anyone but her had been able to hear it. 

Before she had time to remark on how obnoxiously loud he could be he was crowding her back until she bumped into the pillar he had been leaning against when she got home. The moment her back made contact with its firm surface he was bringing his other hand up until he was cupping both of her cheeks. She barely had time to adjust to that very much welcome sensation before he was lowering his head and aligning his lips with hers, pressing them together in a chaste peck that was still enough to send her heart racing. He started to pull back as if to gauge her reaction but she was having none of that. She had been waiting for this for so long and as previously established she had absolutely none of her usual ability to deny herself what she wanted. 

And what she wanted was her hands on Luke Patterson right then. 

She reached up and latched one hand on the back of his neck and the other threaded deep into his hair giving it a little tug just because she could. She had been wanting to touch him so badly ever since that night in the garage when she’d almost lost him and she’d been wanting to touch his dumb, messy hair ever since “I’m Luke by the way”. So she did. 

He let out a little pleased sound that was cut off when she stretched up to press her mouth back to his, this time with twice as much force and no intention of separating anytime soon. To his credit he took the hint pretty fast, his hands dropping from her face to wrap around her waist tugging her body to press against his as he moved his lips insistently against hers. And wow...that was something, the sensation of almost all of her pressed up against almost all of him. 

He wasn’t warm, not exactly, but he wasn’t cold either like she had feared he would be. It was more like his body was mirroring back exactly her own temperature, leaving it hard to determine where one of them began and the other ended when her eyes were closed as they currently were. 

Or maybe that was just them. 

Maybe it was like that quote she always saw floating around online about souls being made of the same stuff. 

When she was well rested and thinking rationally she had always rolled her eyes a bit at stuff like that but now...she was beginning to see the appeal. 

Julie massaged absentmindedly at the back of his neck as she drew his lower lip into her mouth, the sound he made in response enough to have her pulling back with a giggle. 

“Come back here,” He mumbled, his lips chasing hers even as she turned her face away leaving him to press soft, wet kisses to her cheek. 

“Now you sound drunk,” She told him, turning back to face him and looping both arms around his shoulders. “My dad will be up soon and I have no idea how I’d explain...this...when he can’t even see you.” 

Luke groaned as he leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. 

“You’re right.” 

“I’m right,” Julie echoed. 

It was true but that didn’t mean she was happy about it. 

They stayed like that for another minute or so, just enjoying being this close to each other with nothing to hide. They might have stayed like that longer but Julie suddenly let out a yawn she couldn’t contain directly into Luke’s face. 

Luke pulled back sharply but the soft smile that seemed to always be reserved just for her remained in place. 

“You need to get some sleep,” He told her firmly. 

She wanted to argue but all that came out was another yawn. 

Ok, so there was no arguing with that. 

“Goodnight,” She told him, suddenly feeling shy as she backed towards the front door wanting to keep him in her sight just a little longer. 

Luke gestured around them to the soft light spilling around her yard. 

“Good morning,” He corrected with a grin. 

Never one to let him have the last word, certainly not when she was too tired to be embarrassed, Julie leapt forward to press one final lingering kiss on his lips, retreating before he could do more than return the pressure.

Julie backed towards the front door, the grin now firmly on her face and a rather dumbstruck one adorning his. 

“Band practice later,” She reminded him. “Don’t be late.” 

Then she slipped into the house and up to her bed, incredibly tired and pretty sure of exactly  what she would be dreaming of. 

#I blame the #angry flower squad #for this #and also my other friends who encourage me to see juke everywhere #you know you are #and I love you for it #feels so good to write dumb fluff honestly #Juke #Jatp #my fics #fanfiction

[ohmysparkle]

🔮 A New Arrival 🔮

✨ Spellbound: Prologue

Series Masterlist

✨ Pairing: Hyunjin x reader

✨ Length: 2.9k

✨ Warnings: none in this chapter

✨ Tag List: @xviternity @straykisz @97lovestay @aliceu @meow-minho @velvetand-roses

✧･ﾟ🌑: *✧🌙 . *⭐️:*✧✨* : ･ﾟ✧ *.🌑 ✧･ﾟ

A dainty young secretary in a stylish little skirted suit dashes down a hallway towards an office, holding a telephone receiver in her hand, careful that the wire doesn’t snag behind her lest her boss get upset. Afterall, he’s been waiting for this for quite some time.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Yes?” A sharp voice calls out on the other side of the heavy wooden doors. She opens one wide.

“Mr. Mayor! They’re on the line for you!” She urges.

“Damn time, Alyssa! Come in, hurry up and bring your notebook!” He shouts. The secretary dashes back to her desk and grabs her notepad, looking back to the Mayor’s office to see if he’s connected to the line before she hangs the receiver. She dashes back, little heels clicking on the glossy floor.

“Speaker.” She insists to the mayor, urging so that he presses the button in time for her to hear the person on the other line answer. His neat mustache wiggles before he gives a stern “Hello.” for whoever is on the line.

“Hello, this is the Old Zealand Office of Coordination for the Association of Guilds, Clans and other Specialists on Magical, Supernatural and Paranormal Affairs, also known as SMSPA Central. This is Ezra, Lead Coordinator, speaking. What may I help you with today?” Both the Mayor and his assistant quirk eyebrows at the upbeatness of the man's way of speaking, and the mayor clears his throat before his focus escapes him.

“Ezra, good man! This is Mayor Armand Brandywine speaking from Nocturne Town, from the League of Lake Towns… Uh, calling because, hmm… I believe Ezra, it’s been two months-“

“Nocturne, Nocturne, Nocturne… hmm?” Ezra ponders, measuring the familiarity of the name - “Oh yes! The Ponies! I saw your Towns in a travel magazine just last week! My wife has insisted we go over to the League for our anniversary, she says apparently the great lakes over there are crystal clear, and that there are hills full of flowers and quaint little towns pocketed beneath, and that you use the most darling trains and ferries to move about. And the semi-annual pony contest!”

“I - yes, well - we do. Listen Ezra, as I was saying… it’s been four months since we filed an official request to have a specialist come here to help with a witch problem…”

“A witch?!” Ezra exclaims in disbelief, “A witch way out there? No way, you’re not even close to any of our mildly risky areas… there’s hardly any magical activity on your continent. Are you sure it’s a ‘bad’ witch?”

“Yes, positive.”

“Like a ‘sold her soul’ to the devil kind of witch? Or ‘weird lady who lives in the woods and smokes a pipe that makes people sort of uncomfortable but is actually really harmless’ kind of witch?” He questions.

“The former.” Armand replies flatly, giving Alyssa a look.

“Bad?” Ezra confirms.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And to whom did you submit your request with this claim?” Ezra continues asking.

“To a mister…” Armand looks at Alyssa.

“Zachary Z.” Alyssa whispers, clearly mouthing out the name.

“It was addressed to a Mr. Zachary, I believe he was the liaison for this region.” Armand states.

“Oh no…” Ezra does not say anything after this exclamation, and again, Alyssa and Armand share a look throughout that moment of silence.

“Oh… no?” Armand asks after uncomfortably expecting Ezra’s reply..

“Yes, ‘oh no’... you see, Zack was on a field assignment a few months ago and… well, he died. He was assessing if a local pyromancer had become a danger worthy of sending a specialist.”

“Oh.” Armand mouths to Alyssa, with her silently making the same gesture.

“We wouldn’t have any record of his assignments - he had his suitcase with him when he burned.” Ezra continued.

“Oh!” Alyssa silently exclaimes, again, crossing wide eyes with her boss, both of their faces contorting into grimaces.

“Oh poor Zack… He burned, suitcase and all…” Ezra reminisces. Armand is at a loss of words in the awkwardness of it all until the man on the other end bounces back. “So anyways, tell me about this witch of yours to see if I can help. When were the first and last reported sightings? ” Ezra returns to his upbeat, almost musical tone of speaking, having not missed a beat despite the sorrowful interlude.

“Well, you see… no one’s actually seen here. But - “

“Invisibility, you say?! Now that’s something you don’t see often!” Ezra prematurely interrupts, not missing the opportunity for his pun.

“No, no! I mean we haven’t sighted her… yet!” He corrects.

“So you are… placing a request for a specialist… for a witch that is unconfirmed?” Ezra says rather skeptically.

“But, there have been signs! Items, I mean trinkets, of witchcraft appearing in people's homes, dead animals stuffed with tokens…” the Mayor explains.

“Don’t forget the symbols!” Alyssa urgently whispers.

“And symbols! Runes! Painted on people's doors and under their beds!” Just as if he were visiting a skeptical doctor, Mayor Brandywine made the symptoms seem as serious as he could in fear that he would not be taken seriously.

“Hmm… could just be a prankster… any other proof? Any bewitchings? Hexes? Evident signs of curses or dark magic?”

“Well… people have dreamt of the same faceless woman, but I’m afraid we can't prove anything.”

“Well, in that case, it might be difficult to process a request on the basis of a witch. Besides, if there really is a witch, and she’s not actively harming the population, it might be better to just… let her be.” Ezra muses.

“Let her be?!” Alysaa mouths to Armand, which he repeats verbatim to Ezra on the line with emphasis on his outrage.

“Well, yeah, I mean… ‘evil’ and ‘bad’ are both pretty wide scopes. Maybe, if you think about it, witches are almost still human. Just think of her as a bad neighbor. Sometimes it’s more bothersome to deal with them and confront them than to simply let them be” Ezra suggests.

“Wait! Hold on, hold on! Can’t you at least send us someone to evaluate the situation? Maybe one of those fancy Black Knights?”

“Ha! Black Knights, ha! Get a load of this guy Zelda, he wants a Black Knight for one witch!” Armand and Alyssa can hear several people laughing on the other end of the line, most likely seated in desks beside Ezra’s. “No way… have you not seen how things are over in Arcadia? Necromancers, lots of real witches that people actually see, all kinds of undead… ha! Good luck trying to find a Black Knight at this rate, they’re all boarded up in their own country. Simply no way. They won’t leave their little civil-war-issue-thingy over there unless it's something serious. Like bad bad bad black magic serious, not ‘maybe a witch’.”

“Fine!” Armand says with an eye roll, “What about an Other Brother, or a Ghost Buster?!”

“Listen to this guy! Are you honestly willing to go beg one of those associations for an unconfirmed witch?”

“Alright, alright… What about one of those Arctic Druids?”

“No! No! Simply no! We do not work with those people anymore, they are way too fond of human sacrifice. No!” He firmly refutes.

“Then who the hell can deal with a witch?” Armand asks in exasperation, still communicating with Alyssa in silent glances.

“Oh we’ve got a handful of people available… but not for your case, seeing how it is. Hmm… let me think… Are you maybe dealing with anything else?” Brandywine takes advantage of this question to put in complaints that have been more complicated to deal with.

“Yes! Werewolves - plenty of them, and I’m pretty sure someone has been sneaking some bloodusckers into town.” The mayor emphasizes this with a slammed palm on the table.

“Well, Mr. Brandywine, I’m seeing here that some of the towns in the League allow werewolves… hmm.” The sound of flipping papers and heavy slams of stack of folders is clear over the speaker. “But I see here in my records that Nocturne itself is not a ratifying member of the ‘Treatise on the Rights of Magically Affected’ of ‘78, yet I also see that werewolves residents are allowed so long as they adhere to specific medical protocol - which as I see, is being tended to by a Dr. Nemo…”

“Yes but they are a danger to the population! They - they…” the Mayor looks at Alyssa for guidance.

“Say they spend the full moon naked in the woods!” She whispers with fervent urgency and he nods. Bingo!

“They transform without any kind of restraint, running free through town. The woods are like a hunting ground for them, God forbid any innocent happen to roam near there at night. Near feral, I say!” Armand dramatically states.

“Hmm… Well, they should be following medical protocol under the supervision of a trained magical practitioner. I see you have someone assigned,,, a Dr. Nemo? And, these vampires, they are outlawed within your jurisdiction, is that correct? I don’t see any record of any vampiric trespassing, no reported cases or documentation here at all.” Armand worries at Ezra’s skeptical tone, concerned he’ll lose his request.

“It’s that damn Doctor, I tell you!” He finally exclaimes, “I’m sure she’s been bringing in all those vampys under the table. You know what we do to them, they must submit to the authorities to be defanged and treated - that is the law here. Some of those free loving magi hippies on the other Islands may think differently, but everything to the west of me is a Vampire Free Zone.”

“The sirens!” Alyssa quietly interjects.

“And do not get me started on the damn sirens! Zombies too!” Armand concludes.

“Hmm…” Ezra thinks, he has quite a dilemma. According to all records, Mayor Armand Brandywine and several other governors in the League of Lake Towns are quite ‘anti-magic’, not so much the practice of it, but the act of being magical. He isn’t a stranger to getting calls like these, trying to put much needed specialists in situations that are otherwise political, and quite frankly, he was quite clear on not having one of his guys go in to terrorize people.

Ezra considers some of Zachary’s old notes… scribbled on some files in a shared folder. “Mayor Brandywine - staunch anti magi-humanist” meaning, he did not consider magically affected peoples, such as vampires and werewolves, zombies and sirens, to be human at all but instead monsters. Ezra could not allocate a particularly special specialist such as a Black Knight for such a frivolous case. After all, there were greater urgencies elsewhere on his hemisphere. Besides, his organization did not treat such individuals as monsters, he could not give Brandywine what he seemed to suggest he wanted. Monsters, by the standards of the SMSPA, were non-human entities. Enchanted animals and whatnot, ghouls, definitely the incurable undead - so long as they were precisely incurable. He thinks of a possible solution until something catches his eye…

A sheet tucked neatly into the regional folder where Mayor Brandywine’s town’s information was, titled simply “Dr. Nemo - Practitioner of Magical Medicine and Professor of Magical Biology”. Most of the fields were blacked out with ink, a brief description stating that her office was in Nocturne Town, despite the stance of Brandywine, and that she taught a focus course in a magical academy on the other side of the League. Hmm, no picture either, and suspiciously young.

Ezra continued to study the sheet, finding something of particular interest. A stamped red seal that every coordinator in Central knew, but that he had only come across twice before in all of his years of service:

Do not intervene - Tier S approval. The licences assigned to this person were quite… advanced, and quite… obscure. And below… request submitted by the Armed Forces of the League of Lake Towns.

Ah yes, a centralized police and military force for all of the smaller cities and townships in the League. Must be messy, especially considering the polarized stances on magic from the different members on the lake. But why would a magical practitioner require such high level authorization? He’d only seen it used for instances involving Black Knights and the like… never for something as lowly as medical men.

This is definitely one of those hush hush situations, lots of the specialists in his region required anonymity, hid from persecution because of their skills, or ran from some of their previous targets… especially if those individuals worked in the same field as this so-called Dr. Nemo. But this person… he didn’t place them in Nocturne, or else he would have remembered. This must have come from higher up - one of those top secret cases that Zachary would occasionally manage.

It certainly was curious. He held the blacked out form in his hands, retracing the dented letters that pressed this curious name on the paper… Dr. Nemo. Sounded like something out of a book.

“I have… a possible solution.” Ezra finally states, after the Mayor and his assistant had been expectantly leaning into the speaker for some time. “Maybe, perhaps, I can send you someone… Zandor!” Ezra calls to someone who seems to be at a distance from him. “Have we got any newbies?”

“What field?” A voice calls back in the distance.

“Monster hunters.” Ezra specifies.

“We got a class of newbies from that place they sent us that last guy from - the one you sent after that undead bear.” Zandor answers back.

“Gimme!” Ezra orders with a couple of finger snaps, and soon enough Alyssa and Armand hear a heavy folder plop on his desk. “Let’s see here… hmm, quite a few available clansmen… eenie meenie miney mo! Aha! No, not this one… aha!”

Ezra studies the page. The picture is of a young man who looks a bit too young to be in the field. The boy is trained to deal with most issues passively, good references, a bit inexperienced. No reports of excessive force. Mayor Brandywine won't be able to do much harm with the kid’s stats, he thinks, and he’s got good training and just the right licences. Silence again, until Ezra resumes after having studied the file.

“Aha! I’ve got your man. Hmm, and he’s quite a looker! Hyunjin, Hwang Hyunjin. Recently licensed as a tier one monster hunter… deals with all kinds of threatening non-occult entities... authorized to identify threats that are of the occult or ‘other’ nature. Can dispel moderately complex dark magic… transfiguration, discretion, stealth. Sounds good. The boy won’t cost you as much as a Black Knight, that for sure. If you have a werewolf or vampire problem, he can deal, and if you do have a witch, he can send us the claim and we’ll scale it up. How does that sound?”

“Not ideal.” Armand replies with a sigh. “How much does he cost?”

“Hmm…” Ezra presses keys into some kind of machine, “two and ninety seven hundredths of Zealand Zeals per Rupee… fifteen point two Limnian Ponies per… He’s gonna cost you twenty thousand Ponies a month.”

“How much do we have?” Armand quickly whispers to Alyssa.

“We can go up to thirty grand.” She replies. He nods, knowing what part to play.

“Twenty thousand?! We don't have that kind of money!” the Mayor exclaims, putting on the best of his acts. “We can do fifteen!”

Ezra takes a good, long sigh before replying. “Fifteen… and you offer top quality room and board, full, two days a week off, and one day a week for him to take private jobs in the area. He works four days for scheduled items, but will be available 24/7 for emergencies pending his acknowledgment of it actually being an emergency.”

“Deal.” Brandywine quickly affirms, quietly snickering at his accomplishment.

“That being said… I see you only have one other magical specialist in the region, that being this Dr. Nemo. You will make sure Clansman Hwang has access to medical care in the case of any event, and you will make sure he is given a thorough briefing on the area he will service, in this case I am writing his permit to do his work in Nocturne Town, and authorizing him to take up private commissions and attend to emergencies throughout the entire League.”

“Done.”

“Very well Mister Brandywine - “

“Mayor.” He corrects.

“... Mayor Brandywine. You can expect your specialist to arrive in ten days, please be mindful of the documentation and permits he hands you, you will need to keep them safe. Payment instructions will be attached, we collect monthly. For any additional inquiries, feel free to call, and I’d greatly appreciate if you could stay on the line to answer a quick survey if you considered my services satisfactory this day. Thank you for calling Old Zealand Office of Coordination for the Association of Guilds, Clans and other Specialists on Magical, Supernatural and Paranormal Affairs, goodbye.” Ezra’s tone had become flatter, but in view of his dirty victory, Mayor Armand Brandywine did not notice.

The line soon goes dead.

“So… looks like we’ve got a fix to our little problems. Make sure to register the expenses as twenty thousand ponies. Understand?” He says to Alyssa.

“And if it’s not billed in the invoice? They said only fifteen.” She questions.

“Administrative expenses.”

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